


The Call of the Seven Peaks

by NatatBlue



Series: The New Unbreakables [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Military, M/M, Power Dynamics, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 100,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4134939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatatBlue/pseuds/NatatBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For almost four centuries, the mountain kingdom of Tamor, lay under the boot of her southern neighbor, the great and prosperous Alliance of Independent Provinces. Tamor, a nation of sheep and rocks and ancient customs, suffered and struggled to survive.</p><p>Eliot Sanders, the son of the powerful Calatis family of the Alliance, rejects his grandfather’s path. He abandons his family name and business and the promised prestigious role of Senator. Instead he demands to forge his own glory, joining the most feared and elite military unit, the Unbreakables. His life is now forfeit to the whims of constant war, his destiny bound by the honor and brotherhood of the Unbreakables. </p><p>Taurin, the son of a peasant and a defeated nation refuses to bow to the conqueror and accept his fate. He yearns for a world where the pride of his country is not ensnared in despair, where Tamor is again guarded by her Seven Peaks and the ancient order of the Blessed. </p><p>Two men, two warriors from disparate cultures, thrown together by chance or destiny, struggle in the chasm between friend and enemy. Together they will bring both their peoples to the brink of war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**The Call of the Seven Peaks**

**Chapter 1**

 

The first Centurion Lucius threw the file he’d been reading onto the table and leaned back against his chair.  He smoothed his hands over the well-worn edge of his desk and looked for a way to calm his anger. His eyes swept over the files scattered on his desk before traveling to survey the small room that served as his office. The metal cabinets lining the white walls seemed to mimic the proud rows of Unbreakables that he commanded. Finally, he let his eyes travel up and down Eliot Sanders, his lieutenant, his supposed loyal and obedient officer. 

Eliot stood at attention, his eyes forward, his raven hair, olive skin and aquiline nose screaming high nobility to anyone who had lived in the Alliance. Lucius’s attention involuntarily zeroed onto the green eyes of his lieutenant. That color was the only thing at odds with the picture of nobility his young subordinate presented. Green eyes were not of noble blood. Green was the wrong color for a son of First Families, but it did nothing to take away from the young noble’s arrogance. Eliot’s posture was perfect, as was expected of a good Unbreakable standing before his first centurion, but there was no deference in this young noble, no note of apology in his tall frame. 

Lucius was usually good at controlling his emotions, showing anger only at his will and command, but looking at Eliot’s stubborn scowl, real anger rose in the first centurion. His men, his officers followed orders with a precision that was the envy of all the other forces. The Unbreakables, the elite of the Alliance military, didn’t suffer the burden of spoiled noble brats running amok.  

“I’m waiting for an explanation for this report, Lieutenant,” Lucius said, only after he was sure his voice would not betray his anger. Uncontrolled anger was beneath the man wearing the golden eagle on his shoulder.

Eliot Sanders continued to stare in rigid silence. Lucius wondered for the hundredth time what he’d been thinking taking a Calatis into the Unbreakables. Nobility and the Unbreakables were supposed to be separate worlds. Worse yet, Eliot Sanders was not just any nobleman. Despite Eliot’s own objections,he was still heir to the Calatis house, one of the nine families that controlled and ruled the entire Alliance of Free Provinces, hiding behind the semi-elected public puppets. Taken by the man’s promising tactical mind and battlefield skills, Lucius had jeopardized the long standing tradition of keeping the Unbreakables pure from political influence and had given the blue beret to Eliot. Now that decision haunted him.  

“Lieutenant, you went from one disaster to another with this mission.” Lucius stood up, going around his desk, to stand right before Eliot. “You disappeared for over six hours with no contact. You left your men in hostile territory, wondering whether their commanding officer was dead or alive, and that was with the mission already jeopardized by the death of your contact.”

A small flicker of protest passed over Eliot’s face. Lucius held up his hand, silencing Eliot even before the other man could speak.

“You disappeared  on your men and then turned up with a stray Shiraki boy. I can imagine no reason for such dereliction of duty. Do you have one?”

 “The boy was dying,” Eliot spat the words through his teeth.“He’d been beaten, stabbed, tortured andthrown into the trash to die. He would have died if I hadn’t rushed him to the hospital.”

The noble brat had the audacity to be angry over the reprimand. Lucius considered the boy before him for a second. “It’s Shirak, Eliot,” Lucius said in a forceful tone. “It’s no holiday spot. It’s a wasteland.People die there every day. You’ve been with us for three years. I know you’ve seen war, and I know you’ve seen Shirak. Dead and wounded on the streets isn’t news.”

Eliot said nothing. His jaw tightened further and his eyes turned harder.

“And now,” Lucius went on, “you’re recommending—” Lucius stopped with a small shake of his head. “No excuse me,” he let the sarcasm bleed through his words “telling me to take a sixteen year old Shiraki national into the Unbreakables.” Lucius smacked the heel of his hand against the surface of his desk. “Have you lost your mind completely?”

“The boy is the reason we succeeded on our mission.” Eliot shifted his eyes to Lucius, who was reminded once again why taking this young noble into the Unbreakables hadbeen a bad idea. Three years in the Unbreakables and Eliot Sanders failed to understand basic obedience and deference to his commander. Eliot wasn’t an insubordinate soldier. The stunt he’d pulled in Shirak was far from his usual modus operandi. But Eliot’s conformity with orders was rooted in his own convictions. With every arrogant look and self-assured pose Eliot broadcasted loud and clear that he would follow only until it suited him, and today the first centurion had found out where that obedience ended.

 “If it weren’t for Ronan we’d still be there, flailing around like headless chickens, trying to figure a way of completing our mission. He led us straight to our target.”

“Eliot, we routinely employ local assistance for missions; our contacts don’t become members of the Unbreakables. If they did, the Unbreakables would be the largest armed force on the damned planet.” Lucius breathed through each word, intent on staying calm.“What’s gotten into you? You threw money destined for the mission right and left on that boy.”

“He needed treatment and I replaced the money,” Eliot replied, his infamous hot temper bleeding into his words.

“Don’t you use that tone with me.” Lucius stepped closer, crowding Eliot. He could see that Eliot itched to push him back. It was a good exercise in controlling his temper for his young, noble lieutenant. “You had no right to touch that money. If I were to take this through the official channels, your military career would be over.”

“Oh, really?” Eliot locked his eyes with Lucius, an arrogant smirk spreading over his face.

“Kneel!” Lucius thundered, putting the entire power of the first centurion behind that one word.

Lucius watched the struggle on Eliot’s face. Open gestures of deference were hard for Eliot. Used to being revered and obeyed since he was old enough to walk, Eliot never had any exercise in obedience before joining the Unbreakables. Eliot had managed to stay in the Unbreakables only through his monumental stubbornness. Most of the Unbreakables were simple people. Unlike most of the army where the officer ranks were crawling with nobility, the Unbreakables were commoners and career soldiers. Recruits knew they lived and died in the Unbreakables. For twenty-five years their life was forfeit to the troops. There was no escape to a safe desk position or retirement to a family company with a few shiny medals. Even as first centurion, Lucius saw more combat than most foot soldiers in any other division. The nobility preferred safe and comfortable, not an inglorious battlefield in the driving rain or the prospect of a near flaying alive for a breach of the Unbreakables’ Code.

For a short second Lucius’s mind went back to his noble recruit’s first days in the Unbreakables. Eliot with his blue blood, highbred accent and arrogant demeanor hadn’t been welcomed with fanfare. The Unbreakables were a brotherhood. Their bond was their very essence. Hazing of any kind was prohibited and ruthlessly punished, but Lucius hadn’t been oblivious to the hard time the men were giving Eliot and the small betting pool on when the noble brat would run back to his grandfather, the Lord Calatis. Lucius had looked the other way. Perhaps curious to see what Eliot would do, or perhaps realizing that was the real test of measuring Eliot’s desire and commitment to the troops. Even he had been surprised when Eliot, instead of reporting the betting, had gone and placed a bet on himself staying when he discovered the illicit bookmaking.  

“Stay there,” the first centurion ordered when Eliot finally managed to force his knee to bend. “You are an Unbreakable now, Eliot. You kneel to me. You bend to my will.  You belong to me, Lieutenant. If you want to flaunt your name around and live like a spoilt brat, you should have stayed away from the Unbreakables.”

Eliot stayed on his knees; the struggle clear on his young face. Despite his earlier anger, Lucius understood Eliot’s struggle. This wasn’t easy for the young noblemen. The determination with which Eliot had moved towards truly becoming an Unbreakable was the reason Lucius was sure that accepting the man into the Unbreakables wasn’t a complete mistake.

Lucius retreated to his desk, but didn’t go around it. He leaned against it, his body looming over Eliot, and studied him. “Are you regretting the choice you made? Joining the Unbreakables?”

Eliot shook his head.

“You’re not a sullen teenager. Answer me properly.”

“No, sir.”

“Then what’s this? Your men are trying to protect you, Eliot. You’re taking them down with you.”

“If you must punish someone for what I did, punish me. Leave my men alone!” 

Lucius watched angry fire flare in the young noble’s green eyes, as the lieutenant fought to stay put.“You fool boy.” Lucius stepped toward Eliot and grabbed him by his chin, forcing his face up. “I’m not the enemy. I’m not looking for reasons to torture my men, and you are my man, no matter how much you’d like not to be right now.”

Eliot stayed silent, those eerie green eyes that were so out of place on a noblemen’s face staring at Lucius with no sign of deference.

“Get up,” Lucius commanded and Eliot complied eagerly. “You will send that boy away, and we will never speak of this.” Lucius turned around and walked to his chair, indicating the conversation on that particular matter was closed.

“I will not.”

Lucius turned to look at Eliot.

“It wasn’t an invitation for a debate, Lieutenant. You do as you’re told. You are sworn to me. You have no independent will. You want to have a say in the matter, go back to being Lord Calatis. I’m not going to turn the Unbreakables into your personal harem.”

“Ronan is not a toy.” 

Lucius studied the man before him. The anger cascaded down from the hard emerald eyes. No wonder the boy was used to everyone bending to his will. Holding those eyes was troublesome even for Lucius, and he was the first centurion. He could only imagine what Eliot’s men felt when those eyes swept over them. Despite the initial resistance to accepting Eliot in their midst, Eliot had made a place for himself in the troops. Those who have served under Eliot were more than willing to give the man their loyalty. Even Gaius, Eliot’s current second, who had been very vocal in his opposition to Eliot leading the Primi, the spearhead of the Unbreakables, was now in Eliot’s corner. 

 “He deserves to be in the Unbreakables. Ask Gaius, ask any of them. That boy is a born warrior,” Eliot said with stubborn glint in his eyes.

“He’s also a foreigner, a Shiraki for that matter, and he has no education. What do you think this is, Eliot?”

“I’ll fix it all. He’ll have citizenship, and he will have education.”

“I can forbid it, Eliot. You are mine, Lieutenant. I cannot allow you to throw the weight of your family around every time you want something. What you do now reflects on us. Unbreakables have a code of honor. You need to understand that.” Lucius was calm now. It wasn’t a struggle to keep his temper any more. This was his officer. He had seen potential in Eliot and he hadn’t been mistaken. The men followed Eliot. In as little as six months of being head of the Primi, Eliot had managed to put every single one of his men under his spell. Eliot intuitively understood the burden and responsibility of being in command – he was impossibly demanding, yet fiercely protective of his men. It was Lucius’s duty to teach him the rest. “Eliot, I know you aim for a bird on your shoulder, and I make no secret of the fact that I think you could even hope for the golden eagle.” He tapped the small golden insignia on his own shoulder, the rank insignia of the first centurion of the Unbreakables. “But if you are to lead these men, you first need to be able to subjugate yourself to the duty of the Unbreakables.”

“I’m loyal to the Unbreakables.” 

“You are ready to dishonor the code your brothers live by. You are ready to turn your back on them. You put that boy before your men during a mission, Eliot. That is not the way of an Unbreakable officer.”

There was a shadow of unreadable emotions over his young officer’s face, and Eliot dropped his gaze down for the first time, admitting surrender.

“Eliot, you can’t lead the Unbreakables if you’re not one of them. And you will never be one of them if every time you want something you run back to your family and its power. You need to decide. Either you’re one of us, or you’re one of them. You need to grow up. You’re like a child who has yet to discover that wanting doesn’t mean having.”

 “I can’t give him up.” The words were a whisper, as if torn from the young man’s lips by force. “It feels the same as giving up a brother. You should be able to understand that.”

Lucius sighed and shook his head. “Of all my men, I never figured you to be the one I needed to worry about being overrun by rampant emotions.”

“This is not about irrational emotions. He is worthy or he will be once I help him get his education. He is a true warrior. Gaius saw it; every single one of my men saw it.”

“Gaius also thinks the boy is damaged, Eliot. Those were his words.”

“Gaius is just being a hypocritical bastard. He is hysterical over the fact that Ronan killed a man.”

“He executed a man in cold blood.” Those details hadn’t gone into the report, but Gaius had come to see Lucius. The boy, Ronan, young and untrained as he was, clearly had promising skills. But Gaius was adamant the boy was damaged, a victim of battle fatigue, and unable to function in a normal environment. Gaius was a good soldier and a better judge of such things than Eliot would ever be. Eliot’s own propensity for ‘the end justifies the means’ made Lucius uneasy at times. They weren’t do gooders from fairy tales by any means, and if Gaius was worried about the ease with which the boy had killed, they all needed to pay attention. “You accepted it is as the price for his help.” 

“The boy had every right to ask for such a price. That man had been among those who had tortured him for days, killed his friend, and left him for dead.”

“We are not judge and jury.”

“And we are not personal protection for every depraved bastard out there. I just didn’t stay in the boy’s way. Ronan is an asset. Allow me to train him, and he will become one of the best warriors you’ve ever seen.” 

There was so much conviction in Eliot’s eyes, and so much passion in his words that it was infectious. Lucius knew he allowed Eliot to sway his decisions far too often. And that was the danger of Eliot Sanders – too much power and too much skill in wielding that power--and Lucius was ready to hand him yet more power and skills one day in a form of a bird of prey on his shoulder. 

“I will give you a week’s leave. Go home, clear your head. Sort things out. Stay longer if you need to, but when you come back, I expect you to be over this foolishness.”

Eliot brushed his hands over his face and looked at Lucius with an unwavering gaze. “Then it’s the weighted whip for me, sir, because I’m not going to give up on Ronan. I can’t give up a brother.”

Lucius was stunned for several seconds. Eliot was bullheaded, but this was monumental stupidity. “You have lost your mind, Eliot.”

“No.” Eliot shook his head. “I can’t explain it. I just know he needs to be by my side. I just know here.” Eliot pushed his fist against his heart. “He’s one of us—a brother. He is a warrior and he’s mine.”

Lucius almost took a step back; he almost yielded to the command in those green eyes. Any other man would have. Eliot Sanders was demanding, ordering, expecting subordination and obedience without reservation. Lucius held the fiery gaze, wondering irrationally for a second if this was the legendary fire of the great lords of the Calatis House who had built this nation, doubled its size, and defeated the long standing enemy on its northern border. 

 “I know this is insane,” Eliot said, a split second of youthful hesitation breaking the spell.

“Go home, clear your head and if after that you feel the same way, I’ll talk to the boy.” Lucius couldn’t believe he was saying those words, but it was clear to him that short of killing Eliot nothing would work. Perhaps it was time to trust his young protégé’s instincts. “But, Eliot,” Lucius warned, “if after I talk to the boy I don’t find him suitable, you will forget about this insanity.”

“Thank you, sir.” 

Lucius nodded. “You’re not getting off scot-free. Unbreakables rely on absolute loyalty and strict discipline. You will suffer the consequences of your foolish actions.”

“Yes, my Centurion.” Eliot went to one knee, as he brought his right fist to lie against his heart in a formal gesture of an Unbreakable yielding to his commander. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot returns home with Ronan.

**Chapter 2**

 

Eliot drove through the busy streets of Karsi, the capital city of the First Province and the entire Alliance. The slow flow of the traffic left his mind free to wander. He kept going back to the conversation he’d had with his grandfather immediately after the plane landed. His grandfather had been furious over the use of their family name to bring “a Shiraki whore” into the country. Eliot’s relationship with his grandfather was difficult, and with each passing day, they grew further apart.

Eliot remembered being close to his grandfather, as close as the man’s hectic and busy schedule allowed. He remembered his grandfather’s eyes, filled with pride, as he watched Eliot and the easy words of praise. It had all changed when Eliot stopped being his grandfather’s little shadow, mimicking the man’s every gesture. When he joined the military, all traces of goodwill between them disappeared. Eliot had turned his back on the path his grandfather had set for him, and Lord Calatis had never forgiven him. Eliot should have gone to law school, followed by a seat in the Senate. Instead he’d donned the blue beret and gone to war. Now all they did was fight. The fight over Ronan had been an ugly one.

Eliot looked at the boy by his side, wondering for the hundredth time whether he was losing his mind like everyone was telling him. 

Ronan had his nose pressed to the window as he watched the city unveil itself beyond the glass. Eliot tried to imagine how the city would look to a boy from shattered Shirak.

Before joining the Unbreakables, Eliot had rarely been exposed to the life of the less fortunate. The trademark of his childhood had been carefree abundance and luxury. His first deployment to Shirak had been a complete shock. Even by the standard of the poorest in the Alliance, Shirak was desolate.

Eliot still remembered his first visit to Siri, the capital of Shirak. He’d walked through the city and seen the street children scurrying out of his way, hiding in the bombed out shells of buildings and disappearing into the tunnels of what had been the municipal sewage system. For weeks he couldn’t get the children’s eyes out of his head, old and wise and terrified eyes that looked so wrong on tiny faces with soft features. The physical destruction of the country was only surface damage that could be peeled away like a bad spot in an apple. No, the real damage was the complete desperation that had claimed mastery over these people’s lives. Eliot had pretended not to notice. He’d walked with his comrades, watching their grim and expressionless faces, and he’d kept his face just as blank.

He’d lain awake the first night, chasing away the bits and images of the city’s streets. It was then that he’d understood he’d seen the ugliest of the faces of war. It wasn’t the battlefield where death’s fire and the stench of its breath followed incessantly. Even there hope managed to survive: the hope of the fire stopping, the hope of staying alive, the hope of seeing loved ones again. The worst was the vacuum of hope that war left behind once it infected a territory and spread into it like cancerous cells. At times, Eliot felt that razing Shirak from the face of earth would be a mercy to these people.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Eliot asked, letting his own eyes wander over the familiar sights of Karsi.

Ronan’s transfixed state made Eliot look at his city with different eyes. He’d driven these roads innumerable times, but it was as if Eliot were seeing them for the first time. They drove through one of the main boulevards of the city with luxurious shops and boutiques peppering either side of the road. Every now and then, a small, tasteful café would pop out from between the shops with elegantly dressed people enjoying the last warm days of the year. Here, despite the auto exhaust, the city smelled of the sea, the main harbor only a few more blocks. 

Ronan nodded, not turning from the window. Eliot considered Ronan as they waited under the glare of the red light. He wanted to get inside Ronan’s head and look at the city through his eyes. For a short second, he wondered about his strange fascination with how the boy was seeing the city. His thoughts were cut short by the light changing and Eliot’s attention was back on the road. 

“There’s no fighting? No bombing? Nothing at all?” Ronan asked, his eyes still captivated by the rapidly changing scene before him.

“Nothing like that, no.”

Ronan turned to look at him. Eliot averted his eyes, as an unfamiliar feeling of shame swept over him when he realized the amusement in his tone had been misplaced. Ronan’s face was unreadable. The boy spoke little unless he was insulting someone. His face was usually as silent as his words. But for a short second a shadow of emotions passed over his blue eyes and young face. Ronan’s expression was again hidden behind eyes that looked away and an immovable jaw, but for a moment Eliot thought he saw anger and accusation. For the first time the utter unfairness of the situation hit Eliot. The war plaguing Shirak was not theirs. Millions of Shirakis suffered for a war that had little to do with them. Shirak had the misfortune of being trapped between two warring giants, the Alliance and United Kalmacia.The Alliance and Kalmacia had been at hot war or cold peace for over six hundred years, since the day the First Province and ancestral Kalmacia had split into two independent countries from the ancient kingdom of Komaga. As the two enemies had expanded and prospered, the nations that had once sat between them became enmeshed in their neighbors’ grievances. Eliot’s country, Eliot himself, brought despair and devastation to another country, while the Alliance continued to enjoy the bounty of a peaceful life. Such thoughts had never visited him before. He felt like he could never look Ronan in the eyes again. He had everything, while Ronan had nothing, and neither of them deserved their fate.

Eliot muffled a sigh when they reached their destination. The silence of the car clung to him like a heavy, woolen cloak, suffocating both of them. Maybe if Ronan had said something, anything at all, the guilt would have cleared, but the boy was silent, his clever eyes taking in everything.

They climbed the marble steps to the front door. Eliot punched in the code, and they entered into a foyer that reflected the wealth and prestige of the building. Lush plants hung from the ceiling, and sunlight bounced on the gleaming floor from the skylights above. Eliot had never really thought of the entrance as grand, but standing next to his Shiraki boy, the wasteful opulence hit him like a sledgehammer. 

“This place is huge,” Ronan said in awe as Eliot unlocked the door to his fifth floor apartment. “Who lives here?”

“No one really.” Eliot walked in, throwing the keys onto the small table by the door. He’d never thought of it as huge, but now he could see it in Ronan’s eyes, and it was huge for a single man who occupied it one or two weeks of the year. “I used to come here when I wanted to be alone or to entertain friends without serving staff hovering over us.”

Ronan looked at him with an amused gaze, but said nothing.

“What was that?” Eliot pulled the boy by the ear gently.

“Nothing.” Ronan grinned at him. “Just that you’re such a spoiled noble brat.”

“Careful, brat.” Eliot tugged at the ear more insistently, but still playfully, ridiculously happy with the fact that Ronan was smiling again and joking with him. Ronan’s grin became brighter and Eliot had to return the smile. 

They didn’t manage to settle properly before the doorbell rang, echoing through the apartment.

“Stay here. Don’t come out unless I call you,” Eliot ordered, leaving the boy in the bedroom and heading for the door.

He didn’t expect anyone. This would be either his mother or his grandfather. He was in no mood for Lord Calatis.

“Hello, Mother.”

Eliot felt relieved, opening the door to his mother instead of Grandfather and their continued battles. His mother, at least, would be friendlier to Ronan. 

Her dark caramel gaze was cold and accusing as she greeted him. “This was an incredibly childish thing to do, Son.” She stepped inside, pushing past him, without waiting for his invitation. Sabin Calatis rarely needed an invitation or permission to act as she pleased. Her tall, elegant form projected displeasure as she measured Eliot.

“I’m happy to see you too, Mother.” Eliot did nothing to hide the sarcasm in his tone as he pushed the door shut with more force than needed. 

“Seven months, Eliot!” Her tone was perfectly level and utterly cold. Unlike Eliot, Sabin was never short tempered. She was the rock to Eliot’s fire. “We haven’t seen you for seven months, and you didn’t even come home!”

“Grandfather made it clear that he doesn’t want me there.” Eliot tried to mirror her calmness, but it was a losing battle for him. Her calm always increased his anger.

 “Your excuse is absurd,” his mother said in a flat almost official voice. This was her at her calmest and most chilling, her voice when she struck down enemies of the family.

“Mother, I only have a week. I don’t intend to spend it fighting with you and Grandfather.”

“And what do you intend to do? Spend it here, alone? May I know what’s the point of having leave if you’re not going to spend it with your family?”

“I have nothing here anymore, Mother,” Eliot said, turning his back to her and pretending to admire the small park with trimmed bushes and manicured lawns that spread under his window. He might not feel completely at home in the Unbreakables, but this wasn’t his home anymore. Even before joining the Unbreakables, Eliot had rarely felt like he belonged. Now, he was a complete stranger to them. “The Unbreakables is my home.” There was no point in telling her that he’d probably never be fully accepted by his brothers because of his name. She didn’t need to know that. “You knew that would happen.” That was the truth. Most of the Unbreakables lost contact with the outside world. The life as an Unbreakable changed them into something different. Something with no place in the ordinary world with impeccably manicured front yards, meaningless greed, and insignificant worries.

She was silent. Eliot had hardly expected her to say anything. She rarely allowed for any display of emotions. They were close, but sharing their feelings wasn’t part of their closeness. 

When Eliot turned around she was studying him. She reached to touch Eliot’s cheek in a rare gesture of affection. Her hand travelled farther down, stopping briefly over the fresh scar on his neck. It was a souvenir from a time he didn’t care to remember. He jerked his head away, as if he was worried the touch might bring back memories he wanted to forget. 

“That one is new,” she said, her eyes still locked on Eliot’s. Her usually unreadable face marred by a second of worry mixed with fear.  

“Mother.” Eliot captured her hand in his and brought it down from his face. She was finally seeing what Eliot’s world had become. “Tell Grandfather he needs to appoint another heir. I can no longer be heir to the Calatis title.”

“He still holds some hope you will change your mind.”

“What is he waiting for? My body in a plastic bag?”

“Don’t!” The word burnt Eliot’s soul, her eyes bursting with bright fires. 

“I’m sorry, Mother.” Eliot lowered his eyes for a second, his voice softening. He had intended to hurt and shock her with his words; still, her reaction pained Eliot. “You need to face the truth. My life belongs to the Unbreakables. Twenty-five years, Mother. Even if I survive, twenty-five years is a long time. The Calatis house will need a lord.”

“We can get you out of it,” she offered in a near whisper. “You know that, right?”

“Grandfather, I expect to say those words, but you?” She never abused her power. She’d taught Eliot the value of fairness and justice. 

“I’m not happy about abusing our family name, but you’re my son. If you’re unhappy with the choice you made--” She never got to finish her words.

Eliot shook his head.

“I don’t regret it, Mother. All I want is for you to accept it as well. I’m an Unbreakable, and that isn’t going to change.”

She nodded. “I always knew you were born for great things, Eliot. I should have guessed you would also choose the most dangerous way of achieving them. I will talk to Father about naming another heir.”

Eliot studied her, not sure what had changed. They’d had many similar conversations, and each time the end was the same, his mother would tell him he should consider it some more. 

“You should at least wed Aurelia. It would appease your grandfather.”

Eliot let out an irritated huff. “I’m not wedding the Appia girl. I can hardly stand her for short periods of times, let alone for my entire life.” Eliot crossed the room to stand by the door, not for any real need to be there, but just as a means of burning off nervous energy. “Not to mention that I’m home at most two weeks a year. What kind of marriage is that?”

“The ideal kind, my dear.” His mother turned around slowly, following Eliot with her gaze, each movement precise and dignified. “Especially if you can’t stand her.” There was a touch of cheer in her voice and a small smile graced her lips. 

Eliot glared at her. “I’m not taking the title. I’m not marrying Aurelia, and I’m not having a child, Mother. There is nothing you or Grandfather can do about it.”

“You are not being reasonable.”

“No,” Eliot snapped, pacing back to the window. “It’s he who’s not being reasonable, and tell him that if he dares to so much as attempt to go ahead with his threats, I will destroy the thing he holds the dearest to his heart. I will destroy the Calatis name, even if it’s the last thing I do in this life.”

Eliot gritted his teeth, grinding them together painfully. Everything reminded him of his grandfather’s words, his grandfather’s slavish adherence to the norms of society. He tried to stifle the rising anger with no success; rage flickered like a forest fire ready to explode into a raging inferno. His grandfather had threatened Ronan and the Unbreakables. He’d tried to force Eliot’s hand by attacking what he held close to his heart. Eliot had been furious with the man. He thought he’d overcome that fury, but he’d been wrong. The anger hadn’t gone away; it had just retreated to spring out with mad force once again. It felt like a fog had engulfed his mind. He could see his mother’s face, worried, slightly anxious. Eliot tried to control the swirling hurricane of violence and aggression that rose within him, but nothing calmed its fire.  

“Master.” Ronan’s voice was like a beacon through the haze of fury in his mind. “Master.” The word was a benediction and Ronan’s soul wrapped around the blazing pyre, containing it, taming it. Eliot had never known such rage or such an easy soothing to his anger. 

Eliot sat heavily on the sofa. He felt exhausted. Ronan slipped to his knees at his feet, pressing his head against Eliot’s knee. Eliot’s hand reached for Ronan’s hair on its own accord.  

“Mother.” He forced himself to look at her. She would be appalled. She, the liberal, the champion of equality and human rights, had brought up a son who found solace in a man kneeling at his feet. He searched for words to explain it to her, but there were none. Ronan had called him master, sprawled at his feet, and Eliot had done nothing to stop him. Eliot was no master. Masters were a thing of the past in the Alliance. Six hundred years ago slavery had set off the battle between Kalmacia and the Alliance, and Eliot had another human being at his feet who called him master. 

“I think we need to talk.” His mother’s voice sounded soft and soothing; it was anything but the accusatory tone Eliot had expected. She pulled a chair close and sat in front of Eliot. She looked numb and lost, guilty even. “This is the boy you brought from Shirak, I presume?” She didn’t meet Eliot’s eyes, her gaze locked on her lap as she straightened the nonexistent wrinkles from her dress. “The boy you fought your grandfather over?”

“Yes.” Eliot sounded tired; his throat felt constricted and sore. “This is Ronan.”

Eliot kept searching her face for signs of anger. There were none. 

“Now I understand why you reacted to your grandfather so violently.” The soft cadence of her voice never changed. “This is my fault. I should have told you sooner.” Her eyes wandered around the room before finally meeting Eliot’s. Her face was serene once again, her gaze unwavering. “I need to tell you about your father.”

“My father?” Eliot fell back against the sofa. “What does my father have to do with it? You never talk about him.” Eliot had been born outside of marriage. Sabin Calatis never married and never spoke of the man who had given her a child. Eliot didn’t know who his father was and had never been interested. He was his mother’s son. He knew his own identity, and he didn’t pine for an absent father who had vanished without a thought for his son.

“That was my mistake. There are things you need to know. I should have told you sooner. I could see it in you, but I hoped it wasn’t what it seemed.”

“Mother you’re not making any sense.” Eliot didn’t take his eyes off her. “If you have something to tell me, then tell me. Stop playing games.”

His mother fiddled with the hem of her suit, an uncharacteristic gesture of open nervousness. 

“Ronan, pour Eliot and me a drink. There are glasses in the cupboard over there and below you can find the bar.” She gestured toward the wooden cabinet that held liquor and glassware, her posture as always impeccable and her movements filled with dignity and elegance that characterized her. 

Ronan sprang to his feet, but Eliot held him back.

“Ronan isn’t your serving staff, Mother,” he pointed out, his hand still on Ronan’s wrist. 

“No, he isn’t, but he serves you.” Her eyes stopped on Ronan, studying the boy. “The puppy dog devotion isn’t hard to miss.” Her tone was sweet, but her eyes, as they travelled over Eliot, were hard and assessing.

Eliot clenched his jaw tighter, angered by her words. He knew her well enough to understand that she was looking for a reaction. Eliot said nothing, letting the fire in his eyes speak for him. 

Ronan, who was usually quick with biting remarks, shrugged. “It’s all right,” he said to Eliot. “I don’t mind.”

Eliot wanted to argue; he would have but he had more pressing issues to consider. “Well?” he asked.

“I think I need that drink before we start this conversation.”

“Then you’ll have to get it yourself.” Ronan held a glass to Eliot, half-filled with ebony liquid. The familiar bitter smell of brandy invaded Eliot’s nostrils. “Like you said I serve Eliot any way I can.” Ronan turned to look at her. “Him, no one else.”

Eliot’s eyebrows rose with surprise and amusement. He couldn’t say he didn’t like Ronan’s attitude. His mother smirked and shook her head.

“I should have known you’d find the most disobedient and irreverent creature for your bonded mate.” She rose from her chair and went to fill a glass. 

Sabin lifted the crystal carafe with careful movements. She dropped three perfect cubes of ice into her glass and swirled the amber liquid. She gulped down the liquid and refilled the glass. Turning back to Eliot, she looked at him, her eyes resolute once more, the glass still clutched in her hands. Ronan slid down to a spot at Eliot’s feet, and Eliot for some absurd reason thought the boy was lending him moral support with the gesture. 

“I’ve always refused to talk about your father. Beyond the very general.”

“Mother, get to the point.”

“Your father is Tamorian.” Her eyes locked onto Eliot’s. “Not just any Tamorian,” she went on, while Eliot was still trying to grasp that news. “Your father is a Blessed of Tamor.”

The world stopped making sense with those words, and at the same time it all made sense-- his mother’s refusal to talk about his father, the secrecy, the silence. Tamor, a land of rock and sheep, a land of obscure and archaic traditions, a land so far from the Alliance that even after three hundred years of being part of the Alliance its inhabitants were still the foreigners. 

“But my name?” It was all Eliot could say.

“Second Province. I know you thought it was a hint of your descent.” She brought her glass to her lips and took a small sip. “I was hoping that’s what people would think. And it worked. Everyone assumed you were conceived with someone from the Second Province.”

Eliot didn’t say anything to that. He desperately tried to work through his mother’s revelation, but his brain refused to cooperate. A Blessed of Tamor. His father was a Blessed of Tamor. An ancient caste of Tamorian elite who proclaimed to be the essence of Tamor, who thought ruling another human’s life absolutely was their right by birth and by the gods. 

“But you loved him?” Eliot wasn’t sure whether it was an accusation or a question. 

“I did.” Her bearing changed instantly. Her head was marginally higher, her spine straighter and her eyes filled with challenge. She was a proud woman, and she wouldn’t accept any questions directed at her actions. His mother in love with a man who professed to believe in archaic and autocratic despotism made no sense. “He was a good man, just like I always told you. You will not dare put your father down for reasons of blind prejudice. I thought you better.”

Eliot’s jaw clenched at her tone filled with challenge and uncompromising demand to bend to her will. They both had strong personalities. They were close and often like-minded, but their personalities clashed. Distance kept peace in the family.

“You said he is a Blessed!” Eliot could come up with no other words. 

“Yes.” She nodded, once more, calm and collected. Any trace of her previous nervousness had disappeared. “And so are you.”

“What?” Eliot jumped off the sofa. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Sit down and let me finish,” his mother ordered. “I said sit,” she snapped when Eliot tried to pace the room despite her earlier order. 

“You can’t seriously tell me--”

“Will you keep silent and listen to me?” She walked closer to Eliot, her eyes locking onto his. “Sit,” she ordered once more, her head jerking toward the sofa with the word.  

This time Eliot did as he was told. His hand went directly to Ronan’s hair, playing with the short brush of newly cut hair. The boy had been adamant on replicating Eliot’s own short haircut. Ronan’s cheek pressed to his thigh, and Eliot felt the fire of anger and confusion subside in him.  

“I think you can imagine the circumstances in which your father was forced to give you up.” Mother’s words were slow and deliberate. A flash of pain burst in her eyes for a second before she snuffed any emotion out of her voice and gaze. “I’ve always told you he had to abandon us to protect you, but I never told you why. Now you know.”

Eliot’s gaze roamed around the room, desperate to find something that would hold his attention, anything that would allow his mind to drift away from the current conversation. There was nothing, only Ronan. Ronan beckoned him like water to a desert traveler. His hand couldn’t leave the boy’s hair, and his eyes kept going back to study the charcoal colored hair and the intense, watchful blue eyes that often darted to Eliot. 

The Blessed of Tamor; worshipers of an archaic and extremist religion, who believed they were chosen by gods to lord over others. It was impossible to wrap his mind around the fact that his mother, Sabin Calatis, could have fallen in love with someone like that. It was impossible to believe his blood was tainted by that.

Eliot came to his feet and silently went to the cabinet to refill his glass. Deep green eyes looked at him from the mirror hanging above the heavy wooden cupboard. 

“I’m an idiot,” Eliot said to himself in a soft voice, studying the foreign eyes. “Green eyes. How could it have never occurred to me?”

But of course it had never occurred to him because Sabin Calatis in the bed of a Tamorian peasant was incomprehensible.  

“Eliot.” His mother’s voice was right under his ear, her hand resting on his shoulder. He hadn’t heard her approach. 

“Don’t!” He jerked his shoulder away from her. “You had no right to keep this from me!”

“I was trying to protect you. To protect him!”

Eliot spun around. He had so many things to say to her that no words came to mind. 

“You know what the Blessed of Tamor means, especially over twenty years ago.”

Eliot knew the barbarity with which Shinzar, the Tamorian religion, had been suppressed. It had been only in his lifetime that it had been recognized as a traditional religion and not a barbaric cult, and its practice was still heavily regulated. His father was old enough to know the fear of arrest merely for being associated with Shinzar and the Blessed. The laws had changed, but law and reality weren’t the same. Eliot had served in Tamor. Even today, the Blessed were watched and harassed. 

“He would have been hunted down like a rabid dog, if anyone had known who he was,” his mother went on, the twitching muscle in her jaw the only thing that betrayed her emotional state. “He, his entire family. I couldn’t allow it.”

“You could have told me!”

“What would your life have been as the son of a Tamorian Blessed? Even our name couldn’t have protected you.”

“I will never be his son,” Eliot bellowed the words. 

“You are his son!” She threw the words at Eliot, as if it were a challenge to a duel. “You are his son with every heated gaze, with every burst of temper, and with the immovable steel in your heart.”

Eliot just shook his head, taking an involuntary step back. Ronan was there, by his side, wrapping around him like a vine around a pole. 

“You are his son with the Blessing that cascades off you.”

Eliot was looking at his mother like she was a stranger. 

“I’m not a Blessed or whatever else it’s called.” Eliot grabbed for Ronan, feeding greedily on the boy’s proximity. “I don’t believe in gods and shiny spirits who live in the clouds and guide mortals in their infinite wisdom.”

“Neither do I,” his mother shot back. “And I can assure you, your father didn’t think a bearded old man was causing the snow to fall.” Her voice was laced with biting tones. “But I know I felt something when you were born. I closed my eyes to it; I tried to deny it as you grew older and stronger.”

Eliot turned away from her in a pointed demonstration that she didn’t hold his attention anymore. 

“You’re bonding, Eliot.”

Her words nearly made Eliot stop, but instead he took the last step to the sofa and sat down. Ronan slid to his knees with no words.  

“He warned me this would happen, and I chose to pretend he was wrong. I hoped he was wrong, I can’t deny it anymore.”

Her eyes were firmly on Eliot and Ronan who was curled up into tight ball at Eliot’s feet, like a guardian dog, Ronan who had been here for the entire conversation. Ronan who was a near stranger, yet to Eliot his participation in this most intimate conversation had made complete sense. 

“I knew, Eliot, I knew and I wanted not to know it.” Her eyes searched Eliot, soft and compassionate. “Your father told me a Blessed could always sense another one. He was sure I also had the Blessing, my power muted by my upbringing. He told me I’d know if you were one. I never believed him until the moment I held you in my arms and without even knowing what to look for, I just knew.” Her words were a plea now. She’d moved back to her chair at some point; Eliot wasn’t sure when. She bent forward in the chair, her hand touching Eliot’s. 

“It’s insane.” Eliot shook his head. “You can’t tell me you believe it. None of this is real.”

The feel of Ronan’s warm scalp under his fingers was the only thing connecting Eliot to reality.

“Eliot, he warned me that if you didn’t knowingly find your bond mate that you would bond whether you knew what you’re doing or not. He also warned me that going into it blind was dangerous. An untrained Tamorian master is a dangerous creature. One who fights the bond is twice so.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Eliot jerked his hand away from her. “You sound like one of those crazy preachers walking the streets and warning people about impending doom.”

“You are not hearing me, Eliot.”

“No, I’m hearing you perfectly. You’re telling me that some spirit who inhabits the mountains has vested me with power and the right to rule other people’s lives.”

“I’m saying nothing of the sort. I’m just saying that this Tamorian Blessing is not a complete fraud as the history books have us believe. I’m telling you, there is something there, some power, some strength that goes beyond the ordinary. Some choose to believe it’s from the gods. Your father believed it was a simple matter of biology. According to your father, the very religion that teaches them about the Blessed was created as a harness for that power. Shinzar protects ordinary people from the fire of the Blessed. It’s not a way of enslaving the people, but a way of controlling the Blessed.”

Eliot shook his head.

“Have you even seen them? The Blessed I mean?”

“I knew your father, and I can tell you he’s one of the greatest and most honest men I’ve ever met.”

“I doubt you’d have said that if you’d met him with his mate at his feet,” Eliot threw the words at her. “I’ve seen it, Mother. I’ve seen it in Tamor.”

“You’ve been to Tamor?” 

“Yes,” Eliot gave a brisk nod. “I was new to the Unbreakables. We were getting ready for a mission in Kirpak. We needed the support of the Tamorians from the Kirpak region of Tamor to be able to cross the border safely and secure the cooperation of locals in Kirpak.” The words tumbled down from his lips in a fast, impassioned cadence. “My decanus took me to meet with the master who lived in the village. I was told to sit and be silent.” The man had been blunter than that. He’d said that Eliot with his arrogance was bound to offend the master, so he was to keep his mouth shut. “He looked like an ordinary man, soft spoken, with eyes that seemed to smile all the time.” As Eliot talked, his mind went back to that day. He could see the old man with a web of wrinkles covering his face, his hazel eyes penetrating Eliot to his very soul. “He was kind with his words; he opened his home to us. Yet every fiber in my body told me to either fight him or run.”

“You felt him,” Sabin whispered softly. Eliot chose to ignore her. He hadn’t felt anything. It was simple intuition that made the difference between life and death on the battlefield. 

“Any illusion of nicety evaporated when his companion, or whatever they call it, and his wife served us tea and then joined us at theirmaster’s command. They were at their master’s feet, Mother, like dogs!”

Sabin’s eyes travelled to Ronan before they finally stopped on Eliot. “Somewhat hypocritical, don’t you think?” One of her eyebrows rose in disdain. 

“This is not like that,” Eliot retorted, pulling Ronan up to sit by his side on the couch. “There was no person left in them. They were a shadow of their master, Mother. You’ll never understand it, unless you see it. Nothing was left in them, but the image of their master. That is something that shouldn’t be done to anyone. You’re a champion of rights, especially women’s rights. It’s wrong. How can you think otherwise?”

At the most candid moment when Eliot was able to be absolutely honest with himself, he had reflected on that day in the Tamorian master’s house until that image had been seared into his brain. Sometimes Eliot could swear he’d been able to physically see the power coming off the man, and sometimes he allowed his soul to yearn for the liquid surrender and the gracefulness of the master’s wife and companion. Eliot knew it was wrong, but something in that image refused to let Eliot go.

His mother stayed silent for several seconds, as if she’d been thinking. Eventually she shook her head and spoke up. “You’re too riled up now. I understand the shock this must be. I’ll leave you to it. All I’m asking is for you to remember that I raised you to be open-minded. Just try to gather as much information on the Blessed as you can. Real information, not from our history books. We both know the conquerors are never kind to the history of the conquered. Just keep that in mind.”

Eliot said nothing. Tamor was a conquered country. That was at least something on which they could both agree. Despite the official line that all the Provinces had joined the Alliance of their own free will, the truth was a different story. Tamor, perhaps, had the worst deal. The conquest of Tamor had been brutal. Eliot’s direct ancestor, General Lord Augustus Calatis had been the one to subjugate Tamor after centuries of fighting. Despite the backwardness of the country and their bizarre beliefs that sometimes bordered on Kalmacian mentality, Eliot had always admired the spirit of the Tamorian people. The official history books told little about Tamor and its warriors, but as a Calatis, Eliot had access to less official documents and information, and in his passion for history he’d devoured the glorious past of Tamor and its warriors. Eliot found it unjust and idiotic that the Alliance still kept Tamorians at a distance, especially when it came to the military. Tamorians were born warriors, and the Alliance could have benefited from them if they weren’t so prejudiced. 

“Just leave me to assimilate this,” Eliot said eventually.

His mother nodded. “Ronan will help. You just need to trust your instincts. They told you to keep the boy by your side. Now you need to follow them further.”

Eliot didn’t respond. The things his instincts demanded of Ronan were too despicable. They wanted Ronan as his absolute possession. She thought she knew something about the Blessed, but she was wrong. If whatever was happening to him was indeed explained by some sort of genetic link to Tamor, it was neither shiny, nor benign. It was vile and dangerous. 

He watched her leave with no other words. 

“Master.” Ronan beamed at him from where he was kneeling at his feet. “I told you, you were Master.”

Eliot held the boy’s gaze in silence. Yes, Ronan had told him so. The boy had been adamant that Eliot was master and Ronan would follow him to the edge of the world. And that had happened almost instantly after Ronan, newly discharged from hospital, had tried to wrestle with Eliot and run from him. Eliot could hardly remember ever being as angry as he had been in that moment. He had shouted at Ronan to stop, and the boy had collapsed as if his legs had been blown off. He whispered the word master and froze with his head on Eliot’s boots. 

“You’re as crazy as my mother,” Eliot said after what felt an eternity of studying Ronan’s blue eyes.

He needed to run. He needed to think.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lost soldier changes everything.

**Chapter 3**

 

**Five Years Later**

 

Eliot woke with a start, unsure what had disturbed his sleep. The day had already begun outside. He slipped out of bed, shivering in the cold air, and dressed. In this frozen torture, dressing and undressing involved only the second layer of clothes. No one dared show any skin, even in the supposedly insulated and heated tents. He pulled the fur hat almost to his shoulders and turned up his collar to protect himself from the penetrating, icy wind. 

Eliot zipped the tent flap quickly to block the wind. He cursed silently as his fingers instantly lost their dexterity. For the hundredth time in the last two weeks he wished he knew which incompetent office rat had decided it was a bright idea to send the Unbreakables to this frozen land of ice and rock. 

They had been deployed to Ozdar to lend support to the infantry. It was one of those senseless missions that served no purpose other than to parade the pride of the Alliance military power. The Unbreakables weren’t designed for long stationing missions or heavy displays of power. They were an elite and highly mobile force—the spearhead of the Alliance military power. The first centurion, forced by the ignorant orders from those who knew little about real combat, had chosen the Third Centuria for this mission to allow them to lick their wounds in peace and quiet. 

The Third had returned from a devastating mission just a month ago. They’d lost ten including their Centurion. Centurion Flavius was two years short of his retirement. He hadn’t made it. Eliot had been forced to take on the falcon and command of the centuria two years earlier than expected. He’d been in the First Centuria from the day he’d joined the Unbreakables. He was Lucius’s optio when Centurion Flavius died. Now, Eliot was stuck with men with whom he had little connection and who were wounded to their souls. Losing comrades and friends was hard, losing a centurion was agony and shame only an Unbreakable would understand. Eliot needed to put the centuria back together and this ice prison wasn’t helping. Locked with their own grief on the high peaks of the mountains with nothing but the wind and snow, his men were getting restless. The Unbreakables needed action. They processed grief and pain with battles and bloodshed and revenge. The quiet of Ozdar wasn’t what they needed. 

“Sir.” The voice jolted Eliot out of his thoughts. Claudius saluted Eliot, his perfect soldier demeanor out of the place in this hostile environment that threatened to freeze the air in their lungs. “The sentinel reports movement up in the mountains.”

“What?” 

It was unbearable on the lower range where they were stationed. Higher on the peaks nothing but death awaited anyone foolish enough to venture there.

“Show me!” 

Ronan sprang from nowhere, already in his usual position at Eliot’s back.

The cold wind hit them relentlessly as they made their way out of the relative protection of the temporary settlement. Ice particles bit into the unprotected skin of their face and eyes, forcing them to find their way forward blindly.

“Report,” Eliot barked.

“Centurion.” The two soldiers at the outpost touched their hands to their hats, saluting the centurion, but continuing to stamp their feet from the cold and pace back and forth in the small shelter. 

They were rotating the guards every two hours in order to protect them from the weather. The two on duty now were from the Fifth Contubernium, Ferox, one of the oldest and most experienced soldiers in the Third Centuria and Silas. 

Silas looked relieved to see his centurion. Eliot bit back a smile. The boy was usually nervous around officers, only having been promoted from the cubs after the last mission.   

“There’s movement up on the crest,” Ferox said, his tone an easy drawl. 

The man had seen enough action to stay serene even in the middle of fleeing men and incoming artillery. He knew frantic barking or hand waving wouldn’t help if trouble was waiting for them around the next corner. “I’m sure it’s people, but not motorized, they’re moving too slowly. Whoever they are, they’ll be dead within hours. Actually I don’t get how anyone is still alive up there.” 

“Can you see who?” Eliot knew full well that in such a blizzard their equipment was of little help. The most they could make out was the outline of figures and only that if they weren’t buried under several feet of snow. 

“No, my centurion.” Ferox broke eye contact and lowered his gaze, the first small gesture of deference since Eliot had arrived. 

“I should go there.” 

Eliot turned to look at Ronan. His eyes were fixed on the white wall of the mountains, his mind already calculating the route. 

“I’m not willing to risk my men chasing after a ghost. They are no threat to us. Like Ferox said, they’ll be dead soon enough.” The direction they were coming was from the enemy lines. Whatever idiot plan the Kalmacians had, Eliot wasn’t worried about it. An attack from the height of the peaks was not possible. 

“It might be our regulars. Those yahoos could get lost in their own backyard.” Ronan never held back in showing his disgust for the regular army.

Eliot had considered that possibility; however, they had no troops ahead of them and the trajectory made no sense. To take such risks with his men on a small probability of it being their regulars made no tactical sense. On the other hand, if they were, leaving them to die up there would go against everything the Unbreakables were and believed. 

“Let me, Master,” Ronan pleaded into Eliot’s ear. 

Sending someone alone into that would most probably mean death, but Ronan wasn’t just anyone. As Eliot had predicted, Ronan had turned out to be a remarkable warrior. The boy would have been a member of the Primi right out of the cubs if he hadn’t refused to serve away from Eliot. Ronan would shine even among the Primi, but Eliot was reluctant to push him into it. 

“It’s too dangerous.” Eliot ran his gloved hand over his cold cheek, still trying to come to a decision.

“I’ll be fine, Master.” 

“I think their progress has stopped.” Ferox pulled the binoculars away from his eyes and looked at Eliot from over his shoulder, expecting his command. 

Movement above cut short Eliot’s internal debate. Just over a mile away from them a small portion of snow came loose and started a slow descent. 

“I think there’s someone caught in the snow.” Ferox said, running toward the crashing snow.

Running toward an avalanche was insane, but sane was not part of their daily routine. Eliot sprinted forward with Ronan at his heels.

They made it to the spot when the mass of snow and ice had hit the ground. Before Eliot could make out the half-buried man, Ronan was holding his knife to the man’s exposed throat. 

The first thing that registered with Eliot was the Alliance uniform and the distinctive patch of the 38 th  motorized. 

“Ronan, stand down!” Eliot still couldn’t believe his eyes.

The tenth platoon of the 38 th  had gone missing almost two weeks ago during a sudden snowfall. The brigade was heading north to Calbad, but the unexpected start of winter had caught them unprepared. Their last known position was the Salmast Peaks, almost one hundred miles to the north. They’d lost their commanding officer and most of their equipment and were caught in the way of the approaching blizzard. With not enough time to organize a rescue mission, all contact with them had been lost. They were all presumed dead. It was incredible that anyone could survive, not only survive but travel on foot in these conditions.  

Eliot went down onto his knees, trying to dust the clinging snow off the man. Ronan was kneeling behind the man, clearing the snow from around him. The man was unconscious, his face an ugly color of almost purple. A small strand of sandy hair peeked out from under his helmet. Eliot touched the exposed cheek, feeling the deathly coldness. Hazel eyes fluttered open. Eliot almost gasped at the discovery—sandy hair and hazel eyes. The man was a Tamorian with two small stripes of a lieutenant on his shoulders. There were few Tamorians in the army and even fewer officers. The man’s ancestry explained his survival. No one could have done better in snow-covered mountains than a Tamorian. 

The man struggled to focus his eyes on Eliot. His hazel eyes were dim and fogged, each shallow breath a clear effort. The man tried to say something, but his jaw and lips refused to obey.                     

“My men,” he managed to rasp.

“I know,” Eliot said. “I’m sorry.”

“No!” The growl was fierce. It hit Eliot straight in the gut with its power.

All of a sudden the broken figure of the young Tamorian wasn’t the object of Eliot’s focus, but the sheer power that radiated from him. Ronan gasped and let go of the man. Eliot watched, mesmerized. 

“There,” the man said, tilting his head upward, managing to grab at Eliot with only the power of his will. “Save them.” It was a command, a tone that would have had Eliot snarling back at any other time, but he just nodded his head. 

“Ronan—” Eliot didn’t even mange to finish his order. 

“Got it, Master.” Ronan was already several feet ahead on the steep climb to the ridge. 

Claudius and Ferox followed Ronan, and new men were arriving with Silas. Eliot turned to look at the Tamorian lieutenant.

“Your men are safe now, Lieutenant.” Eliot said, noticing for the first time how young he was, early twenties, Ronan’s age.

Relief and gratitude shone in the man’s hazel eyes before he fell back into the snow, exhaustion and cold gripping his faint thread of life. 

Eliot gathered the man in his arms and stood up. The lieutenant needed warmth and medical care. He’d made it this far; Eliot wasn’t going to let him die within yards of safety and survival. Several of the soldiers ran to him and tried to take the man from his hands.

“Go get the others. I’ve got this one.” Eliot shielded the man in his arms, feeling strangely possessive about him. “You’ll be fine,” he whispered into the unconscious man’s ear, as he carried him to the medical tent. “You’ll be fine, my mountain warrior. I’ve got you now.”        

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot invites Taurin to join the Unbreakables.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The editor is playing havoc with my spacing around punctuation marks. Hopefully, I've found most of the problem.

**Chapter 4**

Twenty-five men saved in total and all thanks to one young lieutenant from Tamor freshly out of Academy. The man knew mountains well enough to shelter the men before the storm had hit and then to lead them through icy dunes toward the closest Alliance military encampment. His only devises of navigation had been the scarce sight of the sun and stars and the gut feeling of a man born in the mountains. If anyone else had done that at least a dozen journalists together with politicians and some general would have flown out to meet and greet the returning hero. As the lieutenant was Tamorian, Eliot knew his short report would meet dead silence. 

Eliot took a deep breath to calm his outrage as he stared at the file in front of him. They had evacuated the survivors , and the media was already presenting it as another heroic act of the Unbreakables. Eliot had agreed to make a statement to the press. At least a few would hear the real truth. A Tamorian lieutenant had saved the men, not an Unbreakable centurion. Taurin was the hero.

Something thumped against his hand and fell down. He looked on the floor to see a paper plane. Turning around he gave Ronan his best stern scowl. 

“I’m bored.” Ronan grinned and shrugged, nothing apologetic in his appearance. 

Eliot had taken leave in order to stay close to Taurin during his convalescence. He ’ d been unconscious during the evacuation, and now Eliot was waiting for permission from the medical staff to visit him. Ronan and he had taken residence in the best hotel in the city. The hotel was equipped with every possible entertainment, but Ronan managed to get bored. According to Ronan, the pool was infested with ‘posh corpses ready to drown any second’ and the gym was ‘inhabited by a new breed of I’m too important to properly sweat.’ Eliot smiled, remembering Ronan’s description of the Alliance’s high and mighty. It was always a delight to be in high society with Ronan. 

Eliot walked over to Ronan and towered over him with his hands crossed over his chest. “Your behavior is disgraceful, boy ,” he teased .

Ronan grinned at Eliot and lobbed another paper plane at his target. 

Eliot considered the boy before him. Ronan had changed so much from the scrawny, half-starved boy Eliot took off the Siri streets. He now matched Eliot in height and bulk, his eyes didn’t dart around as if he was expecting an attack, and the bright smile came easier to his lips. But in other ways, Ronan was still much the same fierce boy that had appeared in Eliot’s life and refused to leave. 

“You’re awful with inactivity. You should have gone back to base.”

Ronan shook his head. “I go where you go, Master.”

The word tumbled from Ronan’s lips so easily. Eliot wondered if he was going to ever get used to it. He could order Ronan not to use the title, but it would change nothing. Ronan would obey, and every time the boy silenced the word on his lips, Eliot would still know he was Ronan’s master. To everyone else it was a joke between the two of them. When Ronan first came to the Unbreakables, they made fun of how Ronan followed Eliot like a lost pup with a new master. Ronan addressing him as master was just accepted as a response to those jokes. Neither of them ever corrected anyone. The word made Eliot’s mind shudder with discomfort, while his essence shimmered with the rightness of it. 

“You should start spending more time with your comrades.” Eliot sat beside Ronan, tilting his head to look at him. Ronan didn’t make friends. The Unbreakables were all about brotherhood , and Ronan was a lone brother. “If you want to lead these men, you need to know them. You need to be friends with them.”

“Lead them?” Ronan looked amused. 

“Yes,  you have the necessary skills. I’m sure one day you will become head of a contubernium.”

“Master,” Ronan started uncomfortably, “I might have the skills, but to achieve something takes more than skills.”

“I won ’ t allow your origins to stand in the way of your advancement.”

“No, Master,” Ronan smiled softly. “I meant it takes desire. I have no desire to lead.”

Eliot studied Ronan as if he were seeing the boy for the first time. “Everyone has the desire to lead.”

“No, Master, they really don’t . ” Ronan shook his head, the small smile still playing on his lips. “They are just expected to desire it. In fact they are so successfully brainwashed to believe that leading is the only worthy way of walking a path that most even believe they want to lead. Only they end up miserable when they do , and they make those following them miserable as well.”

“Do you think I’m brainwashed into desiring it?”

Ronan laughed . “No, Master,” he said , still laughing. “If there is one with real desire to lead that would be you. You cannot fathom walking behind another. I, on the other hand, am happy to follow you.”

“And if I command you to lead?”

“Then I’ll do it , ” Ronan answered with no trace of hesitation in his voice .

There was a perverse pleasure in knowing the amount of power he held over Ronan, knowing that Ronan would do what made him miserable just because Eliot commanded it. Yet, another part of him shuddered at the implications and screamed for him to step back from the edge of the abyss. 

Eliot pushed back the rising power and ran his hand over the harsh spikes of Ronan’s short hair. “I need to do right by Taurin . ”

“You will.” Ronan sat next to Eliot pushing his shoulder to Eliot’s back. This is how they stood both in life and on the battlefield. Ronan always had his back , and this was Ronan’s way of saying what he rarely said in words. 

Eliot turned to look at his shield mate. Ronan’s blue eyes were shining with unwavering confidence in Eliot. 

“I’ve looked through his papers.” Eliot shook his head, rubbing his face with his palms.

Taurin’s records were testimony of the man’s worth. He was freshly out of The National Sea, Air, and Land Service Academy in honor of General Julius de Clauso—the most prestigious service academy in all the Alliance. Eliot had gone there, but he was Calatis, even the most selective educational institutions begged for students such as Eliot. For Taurin, to enroll and graduate meant extraordinary toil and even more sacrifice. His record was full of disciplinary measures, yet the boy had managed to finish with the highest honors. Eliot knew what that meant. Taurin had been persecuted in an attempt to drive him out of the Academy. 

Ronan pressed into Eliot ’ s shoulder and brought him back from his thoughts

“You will help him,” Ronan held Eliot’s eyes, his gaze never wavering. “Just like you helped me.”

Eliot nodded. He wanted the young officer in his centuria. He could rationalize it. Taurin had proven his value at the Academy and in his short service, but it was more than a collection of skills. Taurin was his mountain warrior. Eliot couldn ’ t explain it; he didn ’ t want to even try. 

Eliot stood up, slapping his palms against his knees. “I need to make a call . ”

The first centurion was going to love this, Eliot thought sarcastically. Eliot respected and loved the man as his superior and a dear friend. Lucius was far from the portrait of an Alliance high ranking officer. He was of humble origins, a man who had carved his own path to greatness, and he believed in making one’s way regardless of background. He had little patience for prejudice and intolerance, but he was convinced that the fight against such things should remain in the political arena. Eliot would have to ask him to push the boundaries of acceptable. While Taurin was a citizen of the Alliance and not a pariah like Ronan, he was also an academy graduate. An Unbreakable officer with Tamorian blood and the appearance to match was going to be a harder pill to swallow. 

“Afternoon, sir.” Eliot checked his watch and made a mental calculation of the current time at their home base.

“Bring the boy home, Eliot.” The first centurion’s voice was short and sharp.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Isn’t that why you called me? To tell me you ’ re going to give the blue beret to your snow rescue?”

“Yes, sir. I was calling to get your permission for it.”

Eliot heard the loud snort on the other end of the line.

“That would be a first. And what would have happened if I ’ d refused?”

“I would have had to insist, sir.”

“Exactly, boy. And you would have insisted until my head exploded, and I would have ended up with you and the boy on my doorstep all the same.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So I ask you this, my rebellious and noble one, is the boy worthy of our color?”

“Yes, my centurion.”

“Then bring him home, Eliot!”

The phone clicked off, leaving Eliot listening to silence. 

 

 

#

Eliot clicked his fingers and pointed at the plastic chair in the reception area of the hospital. Ronan slid into it, without further comment.

“Excuse me, ma’am . ” Eliot approached the reception desk with sure steps. “I’m here to see Lieutenant Taurin from the 38th.”

“Yes, of course, right away, sir.” The young receptionist in pink scrubs looked flustered, as she eyed Eliot in his uniform, projecting the full glory of the Unbreakables.

Her more experienced colleague batted her lashes at Eliot and leaned over the desk, attempting to take advantage of the low cut of her blouse. Eliot suppressed a need to roll his eyes. As the heir to Calatis title, he’d grown up with people throwing themselves at him even before he could properly understand what that meant. He’d developed a healthy dose of distaste for any kind of flirting. 

“Oh, you’re that centurion, who rescued all those men,” she added with another attempt at a sexy smile.

 “I’m sure that honor belongs to Lieutenant Taurin who managed to lead the platoon to our camp.” Eliot clenched his teeth to rein in his temper. He’d held the press conference, giving the details of Taurin’s heroics, and all most had heard was how the Unbreakables had retrieved the men from the mountains and had escorted them to safety.

“Oh, nonsense,” the nurse kept on her flirtatious chatter. “I’m sure they’d all be dead if it wasn’t for you. The Unbreakables are so magnificent!” she gushed, putting her hand over her generous bosom.

Eliot wondered how magnificent she would find the Unbreakables once she witnessed the unshielded violence of an Unbreakable. All civilians knew was the cheap, glorious films that were thrown at them, depicting the heroic splendor of the Unbreakables with no trace of the real blood and hardship that forged an Unbreakable. Their idea of war and its horrors was a sanitized and glorified family friendly montage. 

“Here you go, sir,” the younger receptionist handed him a small piece of paper with the number of Taurin’s room and a hospital map. 

“Thank you,” Eliot said and headed toward the patient wing with Ronan at his heels.

Eliot found Taurin’s room and knocked on the open door. Taurin was alone, lying on a bed in a private room. There was no one by his side. His family was probably too poor to make the trip if anyone had bothered to let them know their son was lying on a hospital bed. It wasn’t the absence of the family that stung Eliot, but the fact that none of Taurin’s men were there. There were no flowers from visitors or staff and no service organization volunteers reading to him or playing cards. 

Reaching into the inside pocket of his uniform jacket, Eliot pulled out a spare blue beret and clutched it in his hand while with his other hand straightened the one on his head.

“Lieutenant,” Eliot spoke with a clear voice as he stood over Taurin’s bed.

Taurin turned his head and glanced at Eliot before trying to pull himself into a sitting position.

“Centurion.”  The boy’s voice was still hoarse.

“Don’t.” Eliot put his hand on Taurin’s chest. “You stay put, Lieutenant .” Eliot gave him a short smile, looking as the boy studied his decorations.

Eliot had been right. Taurin was about Ronan’s age, still in his early twenties. In the hospital gown, with a sick pallor to his cheeks, the boy looked even younger than back in the mountains. His sandy hair was a mess, the short strands sticking rebelliously in all directions, taking away from the harshness of the boy’s set jaw and stubborn eyes.

“You are a hero, Lieutenant,”  Eliot pulled the lone chair to the bed and sat down on it.

“I am no hero.”  Taurin turned his head to look out the window once more. “Sir,” he added after a moment, as if suddenly remembering the required manner of addressing a superior officer. He turned to glance at Eliot again; his eyes caught the blue beret in Eliot’s hands and a shadow of confusion passed over his handsome face as he stole another look at Eliot, as if ascertaining if he was already wearing a beret.

Smart boy, Eliot thought at Taurin’s reaction and went on, “I disagree with you there, boy. You’ve done the impossible. You took command as any good leader should when there was a vacuum of leadership, and you sheltered your men from certain death to deliver them straight into our camp and to safety. You are a hero, Taurin. Very few can boast such heroism.” 

Taurin didn’t answer; he kept staring at the beret in Eliot’s hand. Eventually, with a tired look on his face, he turned his head back to the window, staring out of it, a strange longing flashing in his eyes. There was a sense of apathy from the man that went against the image Eliot had of him, as well as against the sense of power he felt from Taurin. 

“Do you miss your mountains?” Eliot asked and without waiting for an answer continued, “I miss them too; even though, I was born and bred by the seaside. Tamorian mountains have a special allure; their beauty is impossible to forget once you’ve seen them.”

That got the boy’s attention. Taurin turned to look at Eliot, to really study him for the first time. There was a slight shrug from him. “I’ve made my choices; I no longer belong in Tamor.”

Eliot smiled and bent forward. “You will always belong in Tamor, but you are right you did make a choice.” Eliot paused and extended the beret toward Taurin. “Now, I am offering you another choice.”

Taurin looked at the extended beret and then at Eliot; his hazel eyes enlarged by a mixture of surprise and confusion.

“I’m offering you another chance, another family, another life." Eliot continued, while Taurin stared at his face. “I won’t lie to you, it will not be easy. We’ll put you through the fires of the world and the realms of the dead to forge your body and mind into an Unbreakable. But you are not scared of death and pain. You have gazed into its deepest pit and have seen its ugliest face.” Eliot didn’t know the boy’s history, but he could take a guess, and from the shadow that passed over the handsome features , he was unfortunately right. “We will also reward your strength and your loyalty. We take care of ours. We are for life; our bond is unbreakable.” Eliot paused, waiting for several seconds for his words to sink in. “What do you say, Taurin of Tamor? Will you honor the heritage of your glorious Tamorian warriors by joining the ranks of the best in our times?” 

Eliot wasn’t sure why he had addressed the boy as Taurin of Tamor. He knew what that meant to Tamorians  – a Blessed of Tamor. Eliot still had an uneasy feeling around the idea, but the power he felt in Taurin could only be compared to what he had seen in the Tamorian master many years ago.

Taurin looked startled by Eliot ’ s words, astonished. Eliot wondered if the boy considered himself one of those Blessed. No, Eliot’s words were probably the first time he’d ever heard anyone of the First Province acknowledging his nation’s worth and pride. 

Taurin reached for the beret, his fingertips trembling. His jaw tightened and his eyebrows gathered into a scowl. He visibly forced his fingers steady as they connected with the blue fabric. He took the beret and brought it closer, looking at it incredulously. It was partially the disbelief of any soldier asked to join the Unbreakables – the living legend — and partially the doubt of a man questioning his own sanity.

Eliot chuckled in his mind at the reaction. The boy would curse himself and doubt his sanity many times over, but in the end he would emerge as a formidable warrior. Eliot was sure of it.

“I’ll see you at the home base, recruit,” Eliot threw over his shoulder as he walked out the door, pulling a grinning Ronan after him. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taurin contemplates his future.

**Chapter 5**

Taurin fingered the wool of the beret. It was the distinct blue color of the Unbreakables with the insignia of the four birds of prey circling a golden sun. Everyone knew the Unbreakables. Even in Tamor, the Unbreakables were considered honorable soldiers, unlike the regular army. Tamorians weren’t Unbreakables; it wasn’t allowed. Tamorians weren’t officers either. Taurin had proved them wrong there; he would prove the hoity-toity of the Alliance wrong again. He was a Tamorian warrior. They couldn’t take that from him. No one could take that from him. 

He was a Tamorian warrior without a country. He’d taken up arms with the enemy. They’d lived as the conquered territory of the country now called the United Alliance of Free Provinces for over three hundred years. He was their warrior, not Tamor’s. He stood in a line of men with dark hair and dark eyes who hated him. Those were his comrades.

He rubbed his thumb across the deep blue wool. The blue of Tamor was very close, only lighter and brighter and broken by the shimmering white towers of Tamor’s mountains. The Tamorian warriors , who had fought to the last man as their country was ripped apart and subjugated , had worn blue—the Blessed warriors of Tamor with brilliant blue tunics and a chain with a golden ram around their neck. 

No one in the Alliance ever acknowledged it, but the Unbreakables were modeled on those warriors with the demand for complete fidelity and the personal alliances between warrior brothers. Taurin knew their history; he’d secretly studied it in the silent reading rooms of the library late at night when everyone else was asleep. A Tamorian didn’t enter the Unbreakables. He could never show his interest, no matter how much he knew that he was a descendant of those ancient Blessed warriors.

He struggled upright and stared out the hospital’s windows. He’d been airlifted to the Third Province , and the flatness of the ground that spilled out beyond the hospital’s sprawling campus was as alien as the sea coasts of the islands and long peninsula that made up the First Province. A noble of those coastal cities had given him the beret. Did the man understand at all? He was clearly a noble, his attitude unmistakable to Taurin bred and trained by brutal experience to recognize the nobility and their whims. The name stitched on his uniform was ordinary, Second Province, working or merchant class, but his disdainful stare and the blue-eyed boy who trailed at his back and survived in the cloud of his patronage told a different story. 

This Eliot Sanders, this centurion was offering Taurin his patronage. To take it from a foreigner, a conquering lord was sacrilege. Taurin stared at the flat asphalt and over trimmed bushes and willed himself to see his mountains, to hear the wisdom that the ancients promised was carried in the wind. He groaned in frustration and his own stupidity. He’d left Tamor. He hadn ’ t allowed himself to be sent to the few who still called themselves masters and hid in the shadows or worse sucked up to the corrupt Alliance power structure for a few coins and comfort. He knew the teachings. His mother had practiced Shinzar, the ancient religion and mysticism of the mountains. She’d been an underground priestess, leading covert ceremonies at the high festivals. Shinzar was no longer forbidden, but its practice was regulated and categorized, and his mother rejected those demands. It was the same for the Blessed, those of Tamor who were like him. Technically the designation was now allowed, but it was corrupted by the Alliance. A protector of Tamor couldn’t stand under the Alliance flag with its eight stars and not raise his voice in protest. Those who could were not protectors of Tamor. They forfeited the rights of the Blessed.

Taurin was tainted. He’d fled his homeland for the cruel embrace of the Alliance. His future was not of the Blessed, not of the honorable, ancient warriors of Tamor. He’d not been apprenticed to a master, guided into life, forged with his bond mate, and offered the sword of a master. That was the past; this was today. He’d run. He’d wanted the odor of wet sheep out of his nostrils. He’d longed for more than the silence that would guarantee his paltry existence. He was going to be alone, forever the foreigner. He had to crush his Tamorian side. It would only bring him pain. Delirious with hunger and cold on the mountain, he’d prayed to the gods of Tamor and imagined an answer. In his desperate, frenzied state he’d seen a Tamorian warrior. He’d been tall and lean with the shield of the great houses of Tamor on his breastplate. His sword had glittered as if held to the noonday sun even as the snow had swirled around him. Silently he’d turned toward Taurin, his green eyes blazing with an unnatural light, and pointed the way down the mountain.

It had been a hallucination. Plenty of people in desperate situations swore they saw spirits or gods or were helped by invisible and unseen powers. They had been going to die up there in the snow and cold. Taurin had to pick someway down. The vision was his mind helping him make a choice when he had no rational way to choose. Those hadn’t been his mountains; he’d known no paths. They had been as foreign to him as the poor boys of the seashore who had struggled behind him in the snow and brutal wind.

Taurin rubbed the bandage on his wrist where they’d pulled the IV. His mind wasn’t behaving. Green eyes. Eliot Sanders had green eyes. They were the wrong color for a lord, for the nobility. They leapt from his face like those in the ancient pictures of the general with his prince, the young prince looking up into the eyes of his master and viceroy. They looked like the man’s eyes in Taurin’s hallucination. 

He sank back in the pillows and shut his eyes. He was still exhausted. If only he could rest, his mind would heal, and he’d stop being drawn to mystic babble. A small breeze could blow him down. Sleep in the hospital with the efficient but hostile nurses was impossible. He’d shut his eyes, and someone would be poking him for blood again.

“You awake, boy?”

No, he hadn’t been, but what did it matter? He was awake now. The pretentious doctor with his perfect black hair and caramel colored eyes hung over Taurin. His pedigree was ten miles long; Taurin had seen the family crest on his white coat. He probably thought he was being magnanimous, treating the peasant boy.

“I am now,” Taurin said, struggling to a more upright position in the bed. He wouldn’t let these people see him weak. He was a warrior of the mountains. Cold had never stopped a true Tamorian. _A True Tamorian_ — he’d run from his country as fast as he could. He wasn’t Tamorian, and he wasn’t of the Alliance either. He’d seen enough to know he’d never have a home in either place. He’d always be the sandy-haired foreigner in the Alliance army and the boy who cavorted with the enemy at home. He carried the Alliance weapons of war, unforgivable for a true Tamorian.

“Good, good,” the doctor said with false heartiness, totally missing the nuances of Taurin’s comment. He prodded at Taurin’s toes, checking the circulation and the dark patches of sloughing skin. The nurse took another infernal vile of blood. “We’ll have you out of here in no time.” The doctor palpated Taurin’s lymph nodes, listened to his chest, and peered in his throat. “You’ll be strong as an ox again, boy.”

Taurin bit his tongue at the word boy. He needed a warm bed and three good meals a day. Snarling his rightful status at this patronizing idiot would get him nothing, but a scolding from some officer and another reprimand in his file. Taurin dropped his eyes to the blue beret that lay beside him. The Unbreakable centurion must not have seen his record. The Unbreakables didn’t take discipline problems, and they didn’t take Tamorian officers. Officer rank was for people like the centurion with the obvious heritage of the First Province.

“The centurion leave his beret?” the doctor asked, as he made a note in Taurin’s chart.

“It’s mine.” Taurin should have nodded or at least remained silent, not bragged about something that could so easily be revoked. He didn’t have his orders. He’d probably be sent to supervise prisoners digging ditches in some mosquito infested swamp. At least it wouldn’t be cold.

“That was nice of him to give it to you as a souvenir. The Unbreakables are incredible, pulling you out of sure death,” the doctor gushed in the stupid way of all civilians when they talked about their fighting men.

“It’s not a souvenir. I’m being transferred once I’m fit for duty.”

“It’s good to have dreams. Helps keep the spirit up. You’ll be fit before you know it.”

“It’s not a fantasy. I didn’t hallucinate it, Doctor,” Taurin spat the title.

“Don’t you get smart with me, boy. You’re getting the best care.”

“I stopped being a boy when I was ten. Tamorians grow up young. We understand responsibility and hard work.”

The doctor’s hand snaked out and slapped Taurin across the cheek. The nurse jumped back with a shocked expression before pretending to busy herself labeling the vials of blood.

“You do not speak to me that way, boy.” The man’s eyes shone with indignation, and he puffed out his chest. “I will not be insulted doing my duty. I’ll report you to your commanding officer.”

“Fine.” Taurin dropped back on the pillows and turned his head toward the darkened windows. “Report me. I’m sure I’m healthy enough for some sort of punishment detail. Maybe I could clean out the bedpans or rake the flowerbeds. That’s where you expect to see the likes of me.”

“Enough,” the doctor said in a feeble, pretend roar of some pathetic, overfed house cat and stormed from the room, sweeping the nurse along with him in his wake.

Taurin heard the door slam. He reached down and crushed the blue beret in his hand. If it had been real, it surely wouldn’t be now. Insubordinate, ungrateful, arrogant, destructive to moral — Taurin had heard all those words before. He wasn’t an Unbreakable. Why had he ever let himself believe that it could be real? It was only a blue hat. It had just been one more cruel joke played on the Tamorian bumpkin. Taurin tossed the blue beret under the bed and pulled the pillow over his head to block out the light from under the door and through the curtains.

#

“Get up, soldier.”

Green eyes. A flashlight in his face. The luminescent dials of the clock read 03:00.

“I didn ’ t even make it out of town before I had my first centurion chewing out my ass about my newest recruit. You’re not fit to be left alone.” The centurion stopped and stared at Taurin’s face. He reached out to touch Taurin’s cheek, but stopped when Taurin flinched back. “Who hit you?”

“The doctor.”

“Before or after the verbal sparring?”

“In the middle.”

The centurion nodded, his green eyes capturing Taurin’s own hazel ones in an inescapable gaze. There was power here, a power that those of the Alliance weren’t supposed to have. Taurin could feel it, the familiarity settling around him like a wool blanket on a cold night. It warmed him. It felt of home, but it wasn’t all comfort. The power of a master was to be feared and revered. A master wielded fire, both to light the path and to scorch the soul of those who dared disobey.

“Sir might be nice, but I guess I can’t expect that yet. I take it I need to earn it,” Sanders said in a voice of easy familiarity, two soldiers together, but the familiarity did nothing to cloak his power. 

It was an order, and for the first time in many years, Taurin didn’t resent the call to obedience. The Blessed served. It was a given. He wasn’t naturally defiant as the staff and fellow students had labeled him at the Academy. Service was granted to those who deserved it, who earned it. It was given freely, willingly and with pride. Only he didn’t have any pride left. He was going to lick the hand of the Alliance nobility. He felt it in his soul just as all those hundreds of words in ancient legends had described. The bonds couldn’t be escaped. This man would own him. They’d beaten and tortured Taurin in ways he couldn’t allow himself to describe at the Academy, but they had never owned him. This man was smarter. He could own Taurin. 

“You did rescue my men, and you’re rescuing me now, sir,” Taurin said, watching the other soldier with the blue eyes of Shirak rifle through the cardboard box of clothes at the end of Taurin’s bed.

“You rescued your men, Taurin. Never doubt that. I’m saving your neck here, so I can have the pleasure of breaking it later. Why let these men have the pleasure of court-martialing you when I can make you face our justice if you decide on any more full bore idiocy when you’re as pale as the sheets you’re lying on and so thin you’re damn near translucent? Pompous ass or not, this was a time you should have kept your mouth shut. Learn to pick fights you can win. Stack the odds in your favor and stop flailing at every gnat and fly.”

Taurin shut his mouth and stared at his green-eyed centurion. He heard the possessive in his mind, and it drilled through his soul with frightening speed. He knew what was happening. He ’ d only read about it in the ancient Shinzar teachings, but it was unmistakable. It couldn’t be; it wasn’t possible. Both had to be of the mountains, of Tamor. It must be Taurin’s weakened state. He couldn’t give this. It wasn’t a foreigner’s right. 

The man had come back for him. This stranger of wealth and power of the First Province had returned in the tiny hours of the night to bring Taurin home, to offer Taurin protection. To use him for his skills, Taurin’s more rational side of his brain added. Taurin had proven he could survive unbearable harshness. That would be valuable to a centurion. That’s what this man was seeing, Taurin’s skills. Even the Unbreakables weren’t great alpine warriors.

“Ah, you can go five minutes without insulting someone. Ronan, is there anything our new boy can wear? Showing up in his bathrobe would be unusual.”

Taurin’s eyes jerked upward at the word boy. He squeezed his hand into a fist and bit his cheek. He wasn’t a boy. He wasn’t a pet Tamorian to be shown off by some nobleman who collected the exotic. “I’m not a boy,” Taurin said with as much force as he could muster.

“Well, part of the conversation was reported accurately. You are in my protection, so you better get used to me calling you boy. It’s going to happen.”

“I don’t want your protection,” Taurin ground out. That was a lie, any master would know instantly. Taurin wanted protection. The demands of his nature were flooding his senses. He was alone, unshielded, un-bonded . He was too tired for this. He didn’t have the energy to fight. It would be easy to lower his eyes and be what everyone assumed a Tamorian was. It wouldn’t be what he needed, the master and the student, the cloak of a master encircling him and giving him strength until he could rise from his own power. It was a relationship that couldn’t even be imagined by the Alliance. Even the Unified tongue flailed in desperate and pointless noise and motion if such a bond was discussed. Discussing the Blessed in the tongue of the Alliance was like watching a child search for the exit in a tall field of corn, blind stumbling in all directions and finally curling up into a ball and waiting for rescue. 

“Unbreakables protect each other,” Centurion Sanders said fiercely. “First lesson of being an Unbreakable — you protect each other.”

“I’m not an Unbreakable.”

“I gave you a blue beret. You are now in our circle of protection. Get used to it, boy.”

“I’m not what you think. I’m not your tame pet.” Taurin clutched at the sheets, wishing he could will his body to stop feeling like a much trodden on piece of grass after the first frost.

“I’m not blind. I don’t know your country well, but I know of Tamorian warriors. I know their history. Only an idiot would reject such a force.”

“I must have met lots of idiots,” Taurin whispered, his voice spent from the brief conversation and the spinning of his mind. This man knew of the warrior history. He must know who carried the sword of Tamor. The sword and the fire were of the Blessed. The centurion wasn’t using those words, no man of the Alliance could. The centurion felt of the Blessed. That was impossible, the Alliance reviled the Blessed, treated them as helpless fools or declared them enemies. Even with all the new laws, the Blessed hid their status from the Alliance overlords.Nothing made sense. Taurin must still be half-crazy from staring at the snow. He must be seeing and hearing some sort of mirage.

“Undoubtedly,” the centurion said with a calm voice, but a sharp glitter to his eyes that spoke on anything but calmness. “Hopefully we will seem less like idiots, but I will need your help. I know little of leading a warrior of your mountains. You must teach me, and I am an impatient student.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taurin adjusts to his new life in the Unbreakables.

**Chapter 6**

Taurin leaned against the post of the pull-up bar and turned his face up to the winter sun. The blue skies were brilliant in the high desert home of the Unbreakables. He’d been here two weeks, and the skies had been cloudless. Snow had fallen one night, but it had melted by ten in the fierce sunshine.

The quadratum was quiet. The Unbreakables still used the ancient names for their ranks and divisions and the simple square where they formed up every morning. It separated them from the regular army without poisoning them with the Tamorian names. Only two weeks and holding himself away from the others, Taurin could see the ancient traditions. They were alive here, even if the public only knew the side suitable for glorious propaganda. Admitting the other was unthinkable. Taurin sighed and flicked the ever present dust from his fatigues. The Blessed warriors of Tamor were their model, not some ancient warrior of their early empire. 

Usually there was a bustle of men training, but today they were off on an exercise, leaving the barracks area deserted. Taurin still hadn’t been declared fit for duty. He’d been officially transferred to the Third Centuria of the Power Troops under the command of Eliot Sanders, his green-eyed centurion from the hospital. Taurin was bunking with the Seventh Contubernium. They were down a man, some sort of respiratory infection picked up in an earlier battle and worsened in those frigid mountains . From overheard conversations, he’d been sent to a warm seaside island to recover. The centurion supposedly had twisted some arms to get it done.

So far the Seventh Contubernium had been a good bunk. The decanus was pushing retirement age with deep furrows around his dark eyes and a zigzag scar on one cheek that would have made the man look fierce if Taurin didn’t catch him smiling so often, his eyes melting to the color of warm chocolate. Taurin had seen the usual sergeant shouting also, but the men seemed far from intimidated. They moved about their duties with practiced speed and confidence. Taurin hadn’t seen any real mistakes, not that he was participating in the training in any significant way. He was on light duty, very light duty. He’d been ordered to eat every two hours and walk around the barracks area for exercise. Yesterday Sanders’s fourth had dumped some paperwork on Taurin with an almost apologetic shrug.

“I’m told you’re an academy graduate. I’m a disaster with the paper. See what you can do with it.”

“Yes, sir,” Taurin had managed as he’d taken the disorganized box.

The centurion wanted sir and proper military decorum. Taurin’s rank had been revoked for training and technically now damn near everyone was sir. The fuzzy-haired lieutenant with the box was very much supposed to be sir. Taurin hoped the lieutenant was better in the field than he was with paper, not a form had been right. Taurin still had half a box to correct. He now knew the recorded strengths and weaknesses of half the men in the centuria. The tall, knife thin boy, who slept across the barrack’s room from Taurin, was crackerjack with explosives , but terrible with a rifle. The broody one with the shaved head had been captured last year, but escaped by some daring feat and had been decorated with the sword and clusters for bravery. 

Taurin flipped over his wrist and looked at his watch. He was supposed to have eaten again, thirty minutes ago. He couldn’t manage another bowl of leaden oatmeal with milk and butter. Taurin stared out beyond the barracks, surprised to see a dust cloud approaching and the sound of a motor. Centurion Sanders leapt off the motorcycle and dragged a hapless soldier with him.

It was Otho. He was in the Seventh Contubernium, just out of the cubs from the paperwork Taurin had read yesterday. The kid was nineteen, transferred from an infantry brigade. He was younger than most, but his excellent marksmanship, and fluency in the primary language of Kalmacia, an unusual skill for a simple soldier, had brought him to command’s attention.

“If that had been live fire, I’d need a burial detail. I don’t tolerate stupidity in my centuria, and I definitely don’t tolerate insubordination.” Sanders was shaking the boy by his shirt, nearly tearing the material from his shoulders.

The boy struggled to stay on his feet, all pretense of toughness that surrounded the Unbreakables gone. He was young, totally unequipped to channel the rage that poured from the centurion. His eyes were wide and glassy, and his chest heaved. Taurin heard the word sir several times.

“Centurion,” Taurin shouted and strode toward the two figures. This wasn ’ t his fight. He should keep his head down. Yet, he ’ d seen too much; he wouldn ’ t give up every scrap of his honor.

“Taurin,” Sanders snapped and let go of Otho’s shirt. The boy dropped to the ground, sprawling out in front of the centurion in abject misery. 

“What are you going to do with him?” Taurin stepped between Otho, who was still sprawled across the ground, and the centurion. 

“Soldier, you’re out of line,” Sanders growled.

“I won’t have him hurt,” Taurin said, matching the growl. A master protected. He held the sword; he stood in front and roared at the enemies.

“Is he yours? Your decanus hasn’t mentioned anything.”

“Mine?” Taurin asked, momentarily confused. They bedded each other. It wasn’t unusual in the army with long tours of duty away from home. It was more prevalent here as the Unbreakables had no tolerance for the camps of prostitutes that hung like clouds of flies over carrion at many army bases. Taurin had avoided it. He was still too new to be of much interest here, and many already had a close relationships with a fellow soldier. The Unbreakables were known for their brotherhood and their personal unions. Otho was young and attractive by Alliance standards, but Taurin had no interest. The boy wasn ’ t Blessed; he wasn ’ t his other half described in the ancient myths that Taurin couldn ’ t escape. He couldn’t drink from Otho ’ s power. Taurin couldn’t explain it. He didn’t know why himself, only that Otho could never guard the flames and never surrender to a shinzlan ’ s will in all completeness. He would never be the one kneeling with the clay pot containing the embers of their essence. He wasn’t the silent one with the sheath of arrows on his back. 

“Do you consider him your shield mate?” Sanders clarified, having taken Taurin’s long silence as continued confusion.

“No, I hardly know him.”

Sanders squinted at the sun for a moment before turning his blazing green eyes on Taurin. “I hope it was something in the water this morning. Infectious insubordination. I ’ m going to deal with him for being colossally stupid and careless before I go find the first centurion and get thoroughly lectured about my own incompetence and why my men can’t follow orders, including why I need to explain a simple punishment to a soldier who should be learning the meaning of obedience. Do you want to join him today?”

“I’ll take his place.” Taurin glared at his centurion. He wasn’t deferring to another sadistic brute. Otho might not be Blessed or his, but the boy still deserved protection. Punishing Otho didn’t have to be unjust, but Taurin wasn’t going to lower his eyes and be the good little soldier, turning away from brutality and injustice. He could feel the power from the centurion and the urge to defer to the one who already asked for his loyalty, but the call to protect and shield also echoed in his ears. The Tamorian bond was guided by the gods — the rules strict and unmovable the demands on the shinzlan sacrosanct orders from the gods. The Tamorian bond, there was no place for that here. This was the Alliance. He needed to get his head straight before he did something even more stupid.

“What do you think I’m going to do to him, soldier?” Sanders asked, pushing into Taurin’s space, trying to make him fallback, trying to make him leave Otho unprotected.

Taurin braced himself and met the burning eyes with equally burning eyes. “Hurt him.”

“Like they did you,” Sanders said, the harshness gone from his voice. “I’m not an animal. I’m going to discuss his stunning incompetence. I’m not going to do whatever I suspect they did to you. Otho wired the explosives wrong. He would have blown up a dozen men. He is rated for explosives. Don’t you think that deserves my attention? I prefer not to bring bodies home in caskets.”

Taurin knelt and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Did you do what he said?”

“Yes, sir,” Otho said, his voice fading into the dust. “I was stupid and careless.”

“I’m not sir. I have no rank.”

“You are sir . ” Otho lifted his head and looked at Taurin with sincere, brown eyes. “You got all those men through that storm to safety. I was up there. I was almost lost ten feet from camp.”

“I’m from the mountains, not the seaside or the plains like most of you.” This boy had recognized Taurin’s status as a brother offering protection. Otho couldn’t see the Blessed; the Alliance was blind to them, fearful of them. He was responding to what the Alliance called the aura of command. Sanders talked about it, told Taurin he had it, but Sanders knew more than what he said. Taurin was convinced of it. He was Alliance, yet power rolled off of him. It encircled both of them, a mist of strength and anger and will. “I will offer myself, I take the responsibility.”

“Your martyrdom is touching,” the centurion said with a snort, “but as you are on bed rest you cannot be responsible.”

“I—“

“Enough, Taurin,” the centurion demanded, standing over Taurin, his height far more imposing when Taurin was on his knees.

“You did the unbelievable. I can’t even wire explosives right in practice,” Otho babbled, trying to diffuse the tension between Taurin and his centurion.

“You made a mistake, a big mistake, which you won’t do again,” Sanders said with the steady force of a man used to being in charge. “I’m not going to torture him, Taurin. The Unbreakables still use the whip and the strap. It is our tradition. It works for us. Brothers punish their own and in their own way

“I’ll be OK,” Ortho managed. He shot Taurin a weak smile. “No one says he’s unfair . ”

“I’m not. Now up, both of you. Taurin, wait for me in the barracks. Otho, with me.”

Otho scrambled to his feet . His eyes flickered to Taurin, embarrassed, ashamed . Taurin stayed down, crouched on the well - packed earth. He ignored Sanders’s offered hand and continued to look at a distant point where a bent tree clung between two rocks.

“Soldier, on your feet,” Sanders barked.

Taurin continued to crouch. He mentally blocked Sanders shouted order.

“You’re still at half-strength, boy. If you want a physical fight with me, at least wait until a strong wind won’t blow you over. We both know I can drag you to the barracks. Is that what you want?”

“Not really,” Taurin said with a shrug.

“Are you looking to find out what happens when you’re as insubordinate as possible? I hardly think you want a beating from me, but maybe you need to find out that I’m not going to torture you. I can read between the lines. I have a good idea what happened to you at the Academy. It won’t happen here. Anyone of us would beat someone to death who tried. We’re not kind do gooders from children’s stories, but we protect our own, and you’re ours now, no matter how stubborn and insubordinate you decide to be. It’s my duty to make you an Unbreakable, to bond you with me, and I take my duties seriously. I don’t fail, therefore you will not fail.”

“I never fail,” Taurin spat.

“You’re trying right now, soldier. I ordered you back to the barracks, and at this moment I have hardware on my shoulders.” Sanders tapped the silver falcon on his right shoulder. “You have nothing, not that I think that condition will last for long unless you make a habit of arguing with me.”

“I’ll never be a centurion. I’m Tamorian. I’m not stupid. It will be a miracle if I get my lieutenant stripes back. They can’t have the pride of the Alliance military soiled by Tamorian blood.”

“Your loss of rank is temporary. It is always revoked during training. I explained that to you. You chose either not to listen or not to believe me. I don’t lie, and I don’t appreciate being called a liar in your roundabout way. I wanted you. You brought twenty-five men home under impossible conditions. That is the essence of an Unbreakable officer. I don’t care that your great, great, great, great, someone fought and died to try to stop our troops. They fought bravely, and we were enemies then. Your nation was too small to hold out forever. We lost four for every one of yours; only we had ten for every one of yours. They held ground against impossible odds. Every Alliance officer who isn’t stupider than a box of rocks should be combing the mountains of Tamor for the ancestors of those men. Such traditions should be the jewel of our armed forces. I had one fall in my lap. I’m not letting you go. I have my Tamorian warrior, who I expect to do the impossible for me. You’ve already done the impossible, and I’m sure that was no accident. Now get up and get in the barracks, my mountain warrior. You’ll lead someday, but right now you are very much my subordinate, and your behavior is anything but subordinate. My patience is not endless for this. Move.”

Sanders hauled Taurin to his feet and pushed him toward the barracks. Taurin jerked away from the hands. They hadn’t been harsh, but he knew where that went. This centurion was confusing. He spoke of Tamor with awe and almost pride, but he was an Alliance officer. Taurin had experience with those men. 

“Taurin, I’ll do right by you. I promise.”

Taurin nodded and let his feet carry him to the barracks. Do right. No one ever did right. They did what was advantageous. This man wasn’t so blinded by his prejudices that he couldn’t see Taurin’s worth in the fighting force, but do right by him — never. Taurin knew not to trust. He knew to keep himself apart. He knew that a nobleman’s patronage didn’t last forever and always had ulterior motives. Maybe Sanders only wanted a good mountain fighter. Taurin could do that. It wouldn’t make his skin crawl. The centurion had a beautiful boy. Maybe he’d leave Taurin alone.

Taurin had been ordered to the barracks, but he hadn’t been given any tasks. He looked longingly at his crisp bunk. He was tired. He’d been tired for a month. He wanted to crawl back into his bunk and not wake up for a week, but he didn’t want Sanders to find him in the bunk. It would lead to a beating or worse. At least the centurion was good looking, but Taurin didn’t want to be his boy, his tame piece of ass. He suspected Sanders would be gentle, pet him, say sweet words, but Taurin still shivered at the thought.

Taurin walked to the window and leaned against its frame. The training ground was empty. The sun beat down on the hard packed earth. If he turned his head all the way to the left, Taurin could just make out the edge of the mountains that rimmed the high desert. It was warmer here than Tamor, and only the very tops of the mountains with northern exposure were frosted with snow.

Snow. He’d seen enough snow for a lifetime. The blinding white had covered them. The wind had howled. He’d cut shelters in the snow, a skill that all Tamorians learned with their unpredictable weather. The men had known nothing of mountains and blizzards. He’d dragged them. He’d pushed and shouted and even pointed his rifle at one who dropped in the snow and had looked at him with eyes that had given up. Taurin remembered his shouts. He remembered the feel as his hand had snapped against the pale, frozen cheek.

“Get up! Get up! Are you going to let the boy from Tamor spread your blood across the snow? Are you going to turn this white pink?” He’d pressed the barrel of his rifle to the boy’s temple.

“Please,” the soldier had pleaded, his voice already dead.

Taurin had grabbed his coat and dragged the soldier to his feet. The boy only made it three more steps. He’d fallen in the snow, face down and unmoving. Taurin had flipped him over and watched the gasps through blue lips. The other men had been huddled around them. He wasn’t getting up. Taurin had seen it before. He was of the mountains; he knew cold and death. The rifle shot had been quick; the same that he would do with a down sheep. Taurin had bent and removed the soldier’s dog tags. He’d felt in the pockets, taking the wallet and the last letter home.

The men behind Taurin had stared at him with hatred and terror in their eyes. No words had been spoken, but Taurin had known what was at the tip of everyone’s tongue. Murderer. 

It was the generals who had been the murderers, but they’d never take the blame. They’d never cry over the grave of that poor nineteen year old who had left a girlfriend at home and who had only enlisted for the promised education money.

“Taurin?”

Taurin spun around, his body tensing for a fight, his hands already moving to shield himself from blows.

“I shouldn’t have startled you,” Centurion Sanders said and stepped back. He shoved his hands into his pockets, clearly knowing that trapping his own hands would make him less threatening.

“Where’s Otho?”

“Early lunch.”

“Did you?” Taurin stopped abruptly and turned back toward the mountains.

“Did I what? Look at me , soldier. Don’t you turn away from your centurion.”

“Why? So I can see your pleasure at hurting someone? So I can see your lust filled face as you conquer the vanquished?”

“Boy, what do think I did? What are you accusing me of? Speak. Don’t look away . ” Sanders grabbed Taurin’s chin.

Taurin jerked. He brought his elbow to Sanders’s face. He raised his knee, trying to break Sanders’s hold.

The fight was quick and one sided. Taurin was too weak. He should have hidden his anger and kept his head down. Stupid, he cursed himself.

“You just hit your centurion,” Sanders said in a surprisingly calm voice and rolled off Taurin. “Get up. ”

Taurin rolled to his knees and then to his feet. He knew what to do. He didn’t look at his centurion. He didn’t want to see the triumph in those eyes. 

“I suspect we’re evenly matched when you’re not still half dead,” Sanders said conversationally. “Take your shirt off and put your hands on the wall.”

It was a direct order. There was no way to avoid it. He ’ d have to submit, to be this noble ’ s whipping boy. 

Taurin felt Sanders hesitate. The hand that had touched his shoulder to position him froze on his skin. He was seeing the fine web of white lines that marred Taurin ’ s skin. “Who did this? Who scarred you?”

“Who didn’t?” Taurin said, trying to keep his voice bored and detached. He wouldn’t show anything to this man. He wouldn’t give this man any tools.

“Is this what you thought I was going to do to Otho? Is this why you fought me?”

Taurin shrugged. “Get it over with, sir. I don’t like being on display.”

“Taurin, you can’t disobey. You can’t hit your superiors. Do you have any idea the penalty for disobedience here? ”

“ You beat the shit out of me … Sir. ”

Sanders spun Taurin around, his fierce green eyes matching Taurin ’ s hazel.  “ The weighted whip from the first centurion. Dying up on that damn mountain might be better. ”

“ Just get it over with, sir .” Taurin had stared down plenty of noble officers and taken their punches and tortures, but Sanders expression wasn ’ t full of hate and lust. There wasn ’ t even anger in those piercing green eyes. There had been when they were rolling around on the floor, but not now.

“ I can’t continue to make allowances for what happened to you, and I know something happened. I’m not blind or stupid. I must make you into an Unbreakable. I must have your loyalty, trust, and obedience. I won’t have a reason to keep you on base forever, and death comes fast to those who don’t obey on the battlefield. I’m going to strap you now for fighting with me, and then I’m going to be stupid. I’m not going to write it down on the report. I’m not going to tell the first centurion. You need a pristine record, at least for a while. ”

Taurin nodded at the words, allowing them to wash over him, but not believing. This centurion was silver tongued; he ’ d give him that.

“ I know Tamorians can be loyal. I’m mostly ignorant about your home country, but the Tamorian bond is legendary. I’ve read our military history. I know what isn ’ t being said. No Tamorian ran away when faced with overwhelming odds. They died together—to the last man. I want that, Taurin. I will earn it.”

Taurin heard the determination in Sanders’s voice, the pride, and the power he wore so easily. Taurin had met plenty of noble blood at the Academy. They bragged of their power, but it had been hollow and vapid. He could feel Sander’s. He could be caught in this man’s grasp.

“ Turn around. ” Sanders pointed at the wall and wound a leather strap around his fist.

Taurin gritted his teeth, willing stoic silence as the strap landed on his flesh. The blows were hard and fast, and jerked all thoughts from Taurin’s mind, but standing still and taking it. He didn’t count. There was no use in counting. He’d be beaten until he couldn’t stand; he always was.

“Put your shirt on. We’re done. Don’t do it again . ” Sanders voice was rough in Taurin’s ear. “Don’t make me do it again.”

Taurin said nothing. He bit down on the hiss as his shirt scraped over the fresh welts. He was still standing. No one had reached for his ass.

“Is that all, sir?” Taurin asked, keeping his voice detached and formal.

“Yes.” Sanders gave Taurin a long cool look, his green eyes eerie in a face that was of the First Province. “I want to tell you that you’re good and brave and loyal because I know you’re all those things. I can’t now because you won’t believe me. Someday I hope.” Sanders nodded and left the room.

Taurin slumped against the wall and drew in pained breaths between his teeth. The strap had hurt. He could feel the precise stripes under his shirt. He’d live. It was a strapping. Get over it, he coached himself. Nothing else had happened. Sanders hadn’t even hinted at it. He ’ d threatened him with the weighted whip, but not the other. It couldn’t be? He couldn’t let himself hope. It would only hurt more when it happened.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taurin struggles to adjust to the Unbreakables.

**Chapter 7**

 

The men came back as the afternoon sun had started to disappear and the wind had picked up. Dust and bits of loose paper blew across the training ground. Tired and dirty men clumped into the barracks. They shed shirts covered with sand and sweat and talked in the easy and coarse manner of soldiers who knew each other well. 

Decanus Kadmos had his arm around Otho’s shoulders. “The centurion was mad enough. He take the skin off you, boy?”

 “I deserved it, sir.”

“That you did. You learn from it?”

“Yes, sir. I won’t do it again.”

“Make sure you don’t. Our centurion is none too kind if you do stupid twice. Not again, right?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Taurin, do you have an expression other than glare?” Kadmos asked, turning to study Taurin. He smiled slightly, the same disarming look he gave everyone. He was a gentle man, or at least what Taurin had seen had been kind and generous, not that he imagined an Unbreakable warrior could be gentle and not that he had any experience with men with even a scrap of power ever being kind.

Taurin nodded at Kadmos’s comment and looked away. 

“No happier, just not open challenge, I see. You know, kid, I do outrank you now, and I also have far more experience in everything but surviving blizzards. If we’re stuck in a blizzard in the mountains, I’m handing this contubernium to you so fast that it will challenge the speed of light, but I don’t see any blizzards at the moment, so right now I’m boss, and our centurion is very much boss. He likes you, kid, but don’t push it too far. He’s young, and he has a temper, and I think you’re riding pretty close to it. He punish you today? You have that look in your eyes.”

Taurin looked at the other men in the room. They were at least pretending not to listen, but he knew they could all hear. Punishment spread across the camp like wildfire in a draught. Privacy didn’t happen here.

“Taurin, what did you do? Sanders marked you for half duty tomorrow.” Kadmos gave Taurin a long look. “You still look as pale as that damn snow you like so well, but I’ve got orders.”

“My complexion is paler.” 

“Expect so. You have light eyes. Rare color here.”

“I’m Tamorian,” Taurin said through gritted teeth. Taurin studied Kadmos. The decanus had straddled a footlocker and was slumped in relaxation and idle chatter. “Tamorians have light eyes. Hazel is the most common color, but they are often green or blue.”

“You’re still paler than you should be, right?”

Taurin nodded. He’d seen his face in the little bit of glass he used to shave. His eyes were still sunken and his cheeks still hollow. He had to keep his belt snug to keep his pants from falling to his ankles. 

“Thought so. Sheet white makes me nervous. You eating, boy?”

Taurin nodded again.

“You know I don’t get all excited about sir in the barracks, but occasionally might be a good idea. You don’t have any lieutenant stripes at the moment.”

“I know, sir,” Taurin ground out, trying to keep his voice level.

“Touchy. Stay out of trouble, and you’ll get them back soon enough. We’re short officers right now, and Sanders has an eye on you for at least one of those spots. So try not to piss him off which I take it you did today. Come on, kid, talk to me,” Kadmos added when Taurin stayed silent. “We’re your best friends right now. A little bitching about the centurion is OK.”

“I hit the centurion.”

The men, who had been pretending to do anything but listen, all fell silent: no sound of boots on the floor, or bunks creaking, or packages from home being torn open. “Oh, shit!” one of the guys said.

“Taurin?” Kadmos asked.

“He’ll need this.” A young soldier with his head shaved bald tossed a bottle of pain relievers and a jar of aloe at Kadmos. “You’re crazy, man. He’s the centurion, and he’s not sympathetic with insubordination. Hard eyes. Hard temper. How did you avoid the weighted whip?” 

Taurin shrugged. He didn’t know why he’d escaped the whip. Maybe it was the centurion’s strange sense of justice or a fascination with the exotic. He had a Shiraki boy. It wasn’t Taurin’s place to ask, and he wasn’t going to court a noble officer’s attention. It hadn’t been bad. The welts burnt under his shirt, but they weren’t unbearable. He’d endured more, and this time he had actually done something. He’d hit his centurion. He’d deserved far more than a little strapping. 

“I’m supposed to put you on half duty tomorrow and not only are you still looking like the boy lost in a snowstorm, but you just got yourself a beating,” Kadmos groused. “I can’t work miracles. Turn over and pull up your shirt. Let me get some cream on those stripes.”

Taurin froze. He caught the edge of his bunk, his knuckles white as he gripped the metal rail. He wasn’t showing anything. His pants would soon follow his shirt. He knew the routine. He couldn’t cope with all of them.

“Gods,” Kadmos muttered, getting to his feet. “What’s with you now?”

“Don’t!” Taurin lurched to his feet. It wasn’t going to happen. He’d die first. He backed toward the wall, trying to protect at least one side of himself.

“Whoa,” Kadmos said, lifting his hands with open palms. “What did you just see? I don’t see an enemy soldier in the doorway.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“OK. OK. If you’re shy about a few stripes, put it on yourself. It’s easier if you get someone to help. We all see plenty of stripes on men’s backs. We’ve all felt that damn strap, but if you’re a shy one, I get it.” Kadmos reached behind him and tossed the cream onto Taurin’s bunk. “Suit yourself.”

“You can put it on me,” Otho said, stretching out on his bunk like a cat near a fire. “I had a rough day also.”

“New kid, Sanders would have spoiled you,” one of the men said with a snort.

“He was furious,” Otho said, giving Kadmos a hopeful look.

“You deserved his fury,”Kadmos said and ruffled his fingers through Otho’s recruit length hair. “Don’t do that again. You understand?” Kadmos voice had deepened, the easy humor gone.

“Yes, sir,” Otho said with wide brown eyes.

Innocent, Taurin thought. Way too innocent for this. Otho was a kitten among lions. Taurin heard the growl from his throat before he realized he’d made a noise. He knew he was watching every man, tracking each man’s position, calculating his odds of holding them off. The odds were dismal. He was one; they were nine. He was still weak and soft, prey for the predators.

Lexus rose to his feet in a mass of tight muscle and sour expression. He was the man in the group with the shortest temper, the one who always had to be heard. His bed mate was in the Primi, and Lexus was relentless in his bragging. 

“Shut up for once. Gods, you’re like living with a damn hyena and sour god all rolled into one.”

“Leave him alone.”

“Is he yours? I don’t see you wrapping your arms around him and taking the hurt and sting he still feels. He’s paid his dues, and we all still like him. I can’t say the same about you. I keep thinking you’re going to murder me in my sleep or at least bore holes in me with those damn eyes of yours.” Lexus gave Taurin a push as he said the last words.

Taurin sprang. He channeled the fury and fear into his muscles. He wasn’t the weight of Lexus, but he had the momentum. They both hit the floor. 

Taurin couldn’t organize the next ninety seconds in his mind. It was a flurry of grunts and strikes and scrabbling hands. He only knew he was pinned between two of the biggest guys in the contubernium and two others had Lexus. Kadmos was between them, his expression indescribable. He was a man who usually looked friendly, who laughed easily, who could talk for hours about his favorite dessert. He was the warrior now, the man who wore the blue beret.

“Do you two like getting the shit beat out of your hide? I know I don’t, and I’m responsible for you two infernal asses. We just ran more miles than I have fingers to count and now the whole fucking contubernium is going to be put on report. We’ll get night guard duty and any other shit that can be found. You don’t fight in the barracks, and I don’t dare keep this quiet. I’d never survive what Sanders would do to me. Move.” Kadmos grabbed both of them by the nape of their neck and pushed them out the door. 

Sanders was in his office, his head down over some paperwork, his shoulders hunched in irritation. He looked up as Kadmos pushed his way through the door with a bang.

“Stand at attention, you useless louts,” Kadmos snarled as he pushed them forward.

“Problem?” Sanders asked, rising from the desk.

“Trying to kill each other in the barracks, sir,” Kadmos said. “I can cope with Lexus, but that boy”—Kadmos jerked his thumb at Taurin—“is impossible. He stares at me, and I don’t know what he’s thinking, nothing shows, and then he about flattens his teammate. I know he has skills. I’ve read the report, but I can’t do this. The men are walking around him like he’s going to take their heads off. Our youngest and most insane are drawn to him, and he pushes them off when he’s not going all crazy protective, and he raises every hackle in every officer and NCO who gets within ten feet of him. You’d think he thought we raped and pillaged our own men.”

“Kadmos, are you telling me you can’t manage a half starved boy? That you can’t turn a man who got a squad off a mountain in the worst blizzard in a century into an Unbreakable? That you’re intimidated by a kid who is still at half strength and holding himself upright by sheer force of will?”

“Sir,” Kadmos answered, his eyes flickering to the centurion’s face before dropping to the ground.

“We’re Unbreakables. We don’t give up with the impossible. We don’t leave a man behind.”

“Yes, sir,” Kadmos answered.

“Take Lexus. I’ll deal with our problem soldier. Dismissed.”

Kadmos and Lexus saluted and left with the speed of men deeply relieved. Taurin shifted. He wasn’t strong enough for long periods of standing at attention. He gritted his teeth and concentrated on keeping his back stiff. Sanders sat on the edge of the desk and glanced at his watch before looking back at Taurin.

“Tired?” Sanders asked conversationally after another glance at his watch.

Taurin looked straight ahead and didn’t answer. He wasn’t going to be goaded into replying. 

“Taurin, this is not a test of stubbornness. At ease before you fall down.” Sanders stood and walked toward Taurin. For several minutes he stood in front of Taurin, staring silently at the man. “Who beat you? Who raped you?”

Taurin refused to flinch. “Sir,” he said with as much detachment as he could muster. He wouldn’t give these people ammunition.

“Tell me what happened with Lexus,” Sanders demanded. “Everything, not the edited version.”

“I was angry. I jumped on him.”

“You became spontaneously angry and attacked a fellow soldier?” Sanders gave Taurin a look of absolute disbelief. “I’m finding that hard to believe. Was this about Otho again?”

“I couldn’t say, sir.”

Sanders gave Taurin another long look. “What do you think we do? What was done to you?”

“Sir?”

“Taurin, do you want another beating? I don’t think strapping you again is going to be productive, but you’re not giving me many options.”

“It hardly matters,” Taurin mumbled.

“Hardly matters,” Sanders shouted. “You’re slated to be an officer. You graduated from the finest military academy in the nation. You dragged those men over that damn mountain. I gave you a blue beret, and you took it. You made that commitment. You can’t just toss it aside now. If you didn’t want it, you shouldn’t have taken it. I’m sure you’re a man of your word. Are you going back on your word now?”

“No, sir,” Taurin said and swallowed hard. He could feel shame rising in his throat. He’d never felt shame around these animals before, but something here stirred his calling and sense of self.

“I should put you against the wall and add another collection of welts. It’s not like you don’t deserve it. Attacking your own in the barracks.” Sanders stared at Taurin for a long moment. “It won’t do any good. You’re braced for me to be an ass; that’s what you expect,” he said more to himself than Taurin.

“Sir?”

“You’re on report, soldier,” Sanders said with a sigh. “It’s not like I can pretend this didn’t happen.

“Yes, sir,” Taurin answered automatically, trying and not succeeding in understanding this centurion.

“Are you OK?”

“I’m fine, sir,” Taurin managed, focusing all his power into his words. He wasn’t fine. He was confused, disorientated, desperate.

“You’re about the furthest thing from fine that I’ve ever seen who’s still standing upright. I’m not cavorting with the enemy, and I don’t kill babies for a hobby. You look at me like I do both. I am your centurion, and you have to obey me, but I don’t want obedience out of fear. I want it out of desire, out of the loyalty and the nobility I see in your heart in those split seconds you’re not withdrawn into a forest of swords each one trying to poke my eye out. You’re a born warrior, but damn if I know how to get to you. Fighting with your teammates will just bring you a world of hurt, and you don’t need that. I put you in a contubernium with Kadmos who would mother a rabid dog. Lexus, can be a bit of an ass, but he’ll follow if you lead. I figured that would be easier for you. You’re not the only soldier who is alone in that contubernium. Curl up with one and let him lick your wounds. They’ll see what’s under your cloak of bad humor. My fourth, who I know has been dumping his paperwork on your head, damn near drools over your pretty eyes and clenched jaw.”

“Your fourth is very bad at paperwork,” Taurin said, trying to follow the centurion’s conversation.He didn’t understand this man with the green eyes, this man who should have beat him, but who even seemed to regret putting him on report. He also didn’t understand the complicated courting behavior. The Unbreakables didn’t hide that they bedded each other, but the smile and flushed face of the centurion’s fourth was a mystery to Taurin. He suspected it was part of a mating ritual, but Taurin’s experience in that area was close to zero. The Blessed were matched by the masters, and intimate relations outside the bond were rare if not expressly taboo. Taurin had never desired. He was young and isolated when he left for the Academy, and there he wanted only to stay away and survive. Courting his fellow soldiers was not part of his repertoire.  

“He’d get better at it if you’d growl at him.”

“He outranks me, sir.”

“He’s being lazy and he knows it. You don’t bust his ass for being careless, and I do when he hands me that disorganized mess.” Sanders dropped his voice and gave Taurin a slight smile. “He’s also flirting with you, but you seem slow on the uptake. He’s going to give up on his pretty snow warrior.”

Taurin didn’t know what to say. He wanted left alone. He didn’t want to stand here on wobbly knees and talk to this officer whom he didn’t understand. He was too tired to figure out this game. He was going to make a mistake, and he couldn’t make a mistake.

Sanders cocked an eyebrow at Taurin, and after a moment’s hesitation, nodded his head in dismissal. “You’re confined to barracks except for official training. Go. No more trouble today.”

“Yes, sir.” Taurin managed a salute and a halfway decent turn on heel before beating a retreat into the hall and back to his quarters.

Taurin could see the men glancing at him as he walked into the room they all shared and slumped onto his bunk. Lexus was crouched on the floor, polishing his boots, anger still visible on his face. Taurin knew what he should do. He had to live with these men. They were his teammates, his comrades whatever that was supposed to mean.

“Lexus, that was my fault.”

Lexus lifted his head, but didn’t look at Taurin. “Mine also. You didn’t need another run in with the centurion.”

“Kadmos looked pretty unhappy,” Taurin said, knowing he should keep the conversation going, but not knowing how to respond. The men were all watching him out of the corner of their eyes. All extraneous conversation had stopped.

Lexus shrugged. “I knew what to expect, not that it was much fun. Kadmos is always decent about it, no matter how much it pains me to say it.”

“You better say I’m decent. Do you think I get my jollies about being brought to the centurion’s attention?”

“No, sir,” Lexus said.

“Taurin?” Kadmos asked.

“No, sir,” Taurin managed, but thinking the opposite. At the Academy everyone had always relished the prospect of Taurin getting beat. They liked their prey weakened for them.

“That’s right. The answer is no, sir. I don’t like the centurion glaring at me and looking for trouble in this contubernium. Are we on the same page here, Taurin? I’m not too proud to go and beg for you to be transferred. I’m not too proud to say I’m a failure with you. I’ll take my lumps for it, but one ass chewing is better than several if you can’t pull your shit together. Sanders thinks you have the ability, and I trust his judgment with men. He hasn’t failed me yet, but...” Kadmos shook his head and gave Taurin a long desperate look. “I haven’t a clue what goes on in all those brains of yours. Half the time you look scared and every heroic and decent part of me wants to cuddle and protect you, and the other half of the time I wonder if I need my knife under my pillow, and I start to herd the others away from you. Fuck! Stumbling around in a whiteout for days would fry us all, but this is getting ridiculous. Who are you, Taurin? Can we trust you?”

Trust him? They were the dangerous ones. Every hour, every day had taught Taurin about their danger and duplicity. They hung together; he was the outsider. They saw him as dangerous.

“I’m not dangerous, sir,” Taurin said.

“You’re a warrior; we’re all dangerous. You better be dangerous. What I asked is can we trust you?”

“I’m not a traitor. I damn near died for the Alliance. I know better than to go into the mountains in October with no gear. I told them, and I was told to shut my trap. They killed all those boys as simply as if they’d lined them up and shot them. I left two of mine in the snow up there. No ice axes, no insulated boots, no extra gloves. It was October, not July.”

“You brought more than twenty home,” Kadmos said. “Losing men is always hard. They’re our friends, our brothers. We’re soldiers. We mourn, but we must go on.”

“They weren’t my friends. They hated me. The men hate me, and the officers think I’m a fuck toy.” Taurin collapsed on the bunk and buried his head in his hands. What had he just said? They’d eat him alive now. He couldn’t stay. He’d never survive.

“Taurin.” Kadmos’s voice was too close; it was in Taurin’s ear. His hand was on Taurin’s knee. “What the fuck happened to you? What are you not telling us? You’re making me feel guilty, boy. What did you think I was going to do to you? The centurion would kill me if I treated my men wrong, and I wouldn’t anyway. We’ve all been at the bottom. We’ve all had somebody kicking the shit out of us. We don’t have spoiled ass nobility for officers. It can be good here. I was regular army for four years; this is a much better gig. No dumb as rocks officers with fancy pedigrees. You tell Sanders you need ice axes and winter gloves, and he’ll produce a truckload even if we’ve got to loot a local sporting goods store. If you’re out there with us, we’d be looking for you by the first night. We count our men. We know who’s down. We don’t leave them out there to freeze to death. Sanders might strap that attitude out of you, but he’ll not leave you on a damn mountain to die. I know you got beat around, but it won’t happen here. I’m the softy of the centuria.”

“Softy?” Lexus said with a mixture of humor and disbelief. 

“You don’t have to face Sanders’s fire,” Kadmos said, plopping down on Taurin’s bunk. “Our dear centurion’s no kind angel. Thank the gods, he has that crazy boy of his. It keeps him busy and off our asses.”

“Crazy Ronan,” someone called from a top bunk. “All that master shit; puppy dog boy that bites like a hyena.”

“Juven, I’m here,” Kadmos said in a soft warning.

“Ah, don’t worry, governor. You know I like the crazy ass dude. He makes Calatis bearable.”

“Calatis,” Taurin murmured, realizing he’d said it aloud when everyone turned to look at him.

“Yep, our own personal representative of the First Families,” Kadmos said. “You didn’t know?”

“I knew he was nobility.”

Kadmos laughed. “Our dear centurion tries to hide it, but he’s hopeless at it. All his perfect pronunciation and big words. Every unit should have its own noble mascot. Ours is just bigger and better than most. Crazier maybe also.”

Taurin tried to laugh with them, knowing Kadmos’s eyes were on him. Lord Augustus Calatis had destroyed Tamor, and now he served a distant son. The gods were punishing him again. He couldn’t escape. Tamor always followed him.

“Taurin.”

Taurin flinched from Kadmos’s hand on his shoulder. 

“You OK?” Kadmos answered himself when Taurin stayed silent. “Why do I bother to ask? You never say anything.”

“Lord Calatis conquered the Tamorian savages,” Lexus said, a cruel smile on his lips. “You still lick his boots, Tamorian warrior.”

“Shut up!” Kadmos snarled, grabbing Lexus’s shirt and pushing him back into his bunk with a harsh bang. “Do you need another beating? I’m game.”

“He’s the enemy. He still hates us. You saw his expression when you said Lord Calatis.”

“The centurion gave him the blue beret. He is our comrade. If you can’t get that through your thick skull, I’ll transfer you out of this contubernium, and you can explain it to the good Lord Calatis himself. I’m sure he’ll be his always patient self, especially with prejudiced assholes.”

“Lord Augustus Calatis was the enemy,” Taurin said in a clear voice. He had no reason why he was talking. Lexus was an asshole, but he wasn’t the asshole Kadmos was making him out to be. He was loud and a braggart, but Taurin could almost bet he’d be the first to stand in the line of fire. “Lord Calatis of the past. He was dishonorable, a liar. Every word he told my people was a lie, but the centurion is not. He is honorable.”

“Lord Augustus Calatis is a national hero,” Kadmos said.

“History is written by the victor. He raped and plundered Tamor and her people. He was a murderer.”

“He must be spinning in his grave at his dear great, great, great, great grandson’s new soldier. Nothing like giving the gun to the enemy,” Lexus muttered.

“Shut up,” Kadmos hissed, his attention back on Lexus. “This is not a debating club or a political meeting. I don’t give a flying fuck whose ancestors murdered and tortured each other. There’s plenty of that to go around. All I want is peace in my barracks. Now do I have that, or do I drag both of you back to our centurion who will be pissed beyond belief?”

Lexus spoke first. “I was just funning, sir. You know me.”

“Poking where it hurts,” Kadmos said with a shove that propelled Lexus into his bunk. “And you, Taurin?”

“I was speaking the truth.”

“Making your brothers distrust you is not making you soldier of the year. You’re smarter than that, Taurin.”

“I serve in the Alliance army. I have sworn loyalty.” 

Kadmos gave Taurin a long look. He shook his head, dissatisfaction on his face. “Watch yourself, kid. We’re your last and best friends. Remember that.”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taurin trains with the Unbreakables.

**Chapter 8**

 

It was a relief for Taurin to stand with his contubernium in the cold blackness of the predawn. He glanced up into the desert sky, familiar constellations bright in the clear night. He found the warrior twins and the bow of the Prince Targon. Taurin was a warrior. He was born and bred to fight. He shifted, unwilling to stand and wait as restless as all those around him.

The orders were quick and only partially comprehensible to Taurin who didn’t know the running track or the training grounds around them. Running was easy and natural for him, and he moved off with the pack despite his forced idleness. The ground broke away to the desert plateau below them. Taurin settled into his stride, listening to the morning and the muffled sound of men who took their running seriously. 

“You fallback here,” Kadmos ordered as they swept back toward the barracks. “Go to the firing range.”

The armaments officer glared at Taurin with eyes so dark they appeared black. He wasn’t talkative. He handed Taurin a standard issue rifle and ear protection and pointed at the target.

This was easy. Taurin raised the rifle and hit the circular areas marking the heart and the head. 

“They move now.”

The flashing targets would be fun if this were only a game. Taurin brought the enemy down and checked his rifle at those with his own flag. Taurin knew the drill. It was a test of reaction and accuracy and judgment under pressure. He’d always been good at it, not that his score wasn’t tampered with at the Academy.

“You need it harder,” the armaments officer grunted and changed to targets that were too fast and covered with a confusing array of distractions, a man with a bomb on his chest followed by a wedding party. Taurin knew he shot the cardboard cutout of the bride and let the street hoodlum with the bottle rocket survive.

“Nice of them to keep this little secret,” the officer grumbled, checking something off in a big three ring binder. “This doesn’t make sense. Must be a paperwork snafu. You know how to handle a sniper rifle?”

“I’ve done it a few times.”

“Let’s see.” The armaments officer pointed at some distant targets. “See what you can do.”

The results were another grunt, a nod, and something scribbled in the binder that Taurin couldn’t read.

“Enough for today. Send Kadmos to talk to me.”

Taurin walked back to the barracks. It was getting warm now. The men still complained it was cold, but the winter sun warmed Taurin’s neck. He could smell lunch at the mess hall. The food was uninspiring, but there was plenty of it 

The men were back from morning training and were hurrying to the thirty minutes reserved for meals. 

Lunch was eaten with little chatter. Men concentrated on swallowing enough calories to survive training. Taurin did the same. He had no one to chatter with and was surprised when Ronan plunked down his tray at the empty place. Ronan usually sat with Sanders or at the edge of his contubernium with one leg draped over the bench and his eyes on the door looking for his master. Ronan stuffed a large hunk of bread in his mouth and chewed like a famished dog. Swallowing an entire bottle of juice, he gave an elaborate sigh and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

 “Last meal?” Taurin watched in fascination as a huge sandwich disappeared into Ronan’s mouth.

“Hungry. What’s Smiles want?” Ronan pointed at the armaments officer who had cornered Sanders and was carrying out an animated conversation, involving much arm flapping.

“Probably to bust my ass.”

“You glare at him or something?”

“No, but it doesn’t matter. I’m used to being punished for my shooting.”

“We may be crazy here, but marksmanship ribbons and punishment usually don’t go together. You did something to impress Smiles. You might be snow boy sniper now.”

“Right,” Taurin muttered and concentrated on the food in front of him. He’d finished his main meal and was on to the canned peaches. They didn’t resemble the fruit he remembered from his childhood, but they were better than the fruit cocktail. He knew what happened to his scores at the range. Tamorians weren’t supposed to be able to shoot. He sure wasn’t supposed to shoot better than all the good little nobles.

“Yep, what I thought,” Ronan said between huge bites, not seeming to notice Taurin’s sour look. “You’re going to the snipers. Eliot just sat down with them. He has to convince them you’re a good investment. You’re not exactly well liked here.”

Taurin continued to eat. He was never well liked. If they’d just leave him alone that would be good for him. He didn’t need to be best buddies with the men in his contubernium. He’d do his duty; he’d protect the men under his same flag despite their hatred. He’d given his word, and he didn’t go back on his word. He was a Tamorian warrior; honor was as important as breathing.

Ronan cocked his head and looked at Taurin with his deep blue eyes. “Do you wear a permanent scowl? You don’t have to try to glare through solid wall. You could try a little friendly conversation.”

“Ronan, I’m trying to eat,” Taurin said with deliberate calm. This boy had to shut up eventually. He still had another oversized sandwich on his tray; he would want to eat it.

“Great conversationalist. Eating next to the latrine would be as interesting.”

“Help yourself. I’m not keeping you here.”

“I give up.” Ronan rose with a bang of his metal tray against the wood table. “I’ll join more pleasant company.”

“As I said, I wasn’t keeping you here.” Taurin put his eyes on his remaining food. He knew he was being stared at. Nothing was private in their tight communal living. He could see the shake of a head and the roll of an eye. He heard the muttered, “watch it” and knew the centurion was moving close.

“Finish your lunch, Ronan.”

“Yes, Master.” Ronan dumped his tray back on the table and ripped into his sandwich with a dark glare at Taurin.

“I’m finished,” Taurin said and started to stand up.

“Sit down, soldier.” 

Centurion Sanders was standing over Taurin. His eyes bored into Taurin with that strange green that looked so out of place in a man born into a high noble family. His eyes never left Taurin, even as Taurin stared back.

“You shoot well. Who lied on your paperwork?”

Taurin knew the surprise showed on his face. He couldn’t hide everything. He’d expected questions about last night or sarcastic comments that Tamorians couldn’t shoot. It was impossible that the entire contubernium had been silent about his outburst. The centurion had to know Taurin’s words about his ancestors.

“Is everything on your paperwork a lie? They hated you, didn’t they? I was born Calatis. High and mighty blood aside, I know what happens when the peasant outshines the supposed superior class. They wanted to destroy you, but you’re still here. Now your only enemy is yourself. We’re not the enemy. We want soldiers who can shoot and run and survive. We know that power and skill is not arrogance or insubordination, not that you and I don’t have a problem with the latter at the moment. I’m going to be able to give you glowing reports for shooting and write you up for insubordination and disrespect. I know some of Tamor, not well, but well enough to be in awe of her ancient warriors, well enough to know my ancestors raped Tamor, well enough to know your words last night were true no matter how much they shocked the others. Can I trust you?”

“I’m still Tamorian.”

“You’re an Unbreakable. That is all that matters now. We are loyal to each other, to our ideals. The noise out there matters little.” Sanders stood up. “You will be training with the snipers. Their lieutenant will brief you.”

“Sir?”

“You’re a very good shot. I’d be stupid not to use my resources to my best advantage. You’re a good soldier, a good Unbreakable. I trust and believe that. It’s time you trust yourself. You’re not whatever they tried to make you believe at the Academy.”

“I’m trouble, sir.”

“I don’t think so. Maybe now, but not later. You’re loyal, you’re brave, you’re honorable. None of those qualities equate with trouble.”

“I haven’t shown that.”

“You brought those boys home. You’ve shown it.”

“I didn’t want to die out there.”

“How quickly would you have made it without them? Tell me,” Sanders demanded.

“Don’t know. Half the time probably, sir,” Taurin said, forcing his body still.

“Half, maybe a quarter. You damn near died bringing men home who never said thank you, who sneered at you, who disobeyed at every turn when it was important, who you terrorized into obedience to save their lives and they were too thick to fall on their knees and thank you for every breath that enters their lungs. We were given medals and accolades, and you did all the work. I know that. Every man in this outfit knows that. For your reward, you had a brush with an official inquiry.”

“I shot that boy.”

“He was already as good as dead and you know it. Even the assholes knew it. For civilians, it’s hard to understand, but for the brass to pretend not to understand is as good as lying. You’re here because you brought those boys home. Four months out of the academy, you made all the right decisions. You brought almost everyone home in an impossible situation. That is an Unbreakable. I don’t care if you’re from Tamor. I wouldn’t care if you were from the moon if you can bring my men home. I don’t care that you’re probably six times smarter than I am and can run faster than most of us. All the better. I’m not the stupid, petty nobility who was threatened by you. No, I’m the greedy centurion who wants you, who wants all you're capable of at my orders, who wants to know when I put that rank insignia back on your sleeve that I’m sending the very best out in front of my men.”

“Sir.”

“You’re good boy, and I’ll tell you that every day. I’ll also beat you bloody if you continue to be insubordinate. You get both. Now finish your lunch because you have some very boring filing you can do in my office since you’re on report.”

“I love filing.” Taurin had no reason why he said it, but it fell out of his mouth as uncontrolled as the very slight smile that followed it.

“Only me.” Sanders smiled, his face alight in genuine pleasure. 

“You know you collect smart asses. It’s your hobby,” one of the senior decani called with a grin. “Taurin will fit right in.”

“I take it you’re one of my smart asses,” Sanders said.

“Of course, sir. I wouldn’t have it any other way. And I’ll take the boy if Kadmos wants to give him up. If he can shoot straight, I’ll deal with the rest. We can spit and snarl at each other until he has enough rank to tell me to shut up.”

“Lycos, you don’t get my wildcat. No poaching,” Kadmos shouted in good humor.

“But you don’t like getting scratched. I like the wild ones.”

“But I’ll have him nice and tame, my guard kitty curled up by the fire with the beautiful ability to hit the enemy at five hundred yards.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot goes to the first centurion.

**Chapter 9**

 

It had been long couple of weeks between trying to manage his snow recruit with a permanent scowl on his face and putting the grieving Third Centuria together. Eliot had tried everything to get the men back to battle readiness, to make them into the tight unit they once were, but the loss of the men, of their centurion was still a glaring hole in their souls. The outer layer of grief and misery had dissipated. They were chatting and laughing and joking again. He could see the usual horseplay between men who were fit and restless, but during the first serious training the men crumbled, their performance going from bad to disastrous. 

Eliot’s gaze swept the training grounds, anger and displeasure warring with his own guilt and need to protect his men. “Unacceptable!” he barked, measuring the men huddled in front of him.

The entire centuria had been on a search and eliminate simulation, and it had been a complete fiasco. They’d made multiple mistakes, resulting in a horrifying number of mock casualties. If it had been a real mission, they would have been annihilated. He couldn’t let his men find solace in their incompetence. They’d lost too many comrades and that happened when they were at their best. Incompetence had dire consequences on a battlefield.Eliot was determined never to have the Third face such losses again. This centuria would be back to its full capacity even if Eliot had to drive them into their graves to achieve it. 

“Disgusting!” he thundered. “Run laps until you’re dropping. Maybe then you’ll remember how to fight and not look like rampaging boy scouts on a picnic. Move! Don’t stand there with bull’s-eyes on your back. You’re a dishonor to the name of the Unbreakables!”

A collective groan rose to the skies at Eliot’s order, but the shuffling feet told Eliot the men were not so far gone as to be openly disobedient. 

“We’re tired.” The words cut through the noise of scuffling feet and panting men. 

Eliot turned around toward the source of the challenge. Blasius stood with his hands on his hips and his face set. He was a big man, usually silent and morose, but utterly loyal and subordinate. He was a good soldier. Blasius had lost his shield mate Lunius at Arbier and was grief-stricken. 

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, soldier,” Eliot said in a low, warning voice. “Now get back into the formation and start running.”

“Yeah, you’re good at that. Pretending! You pretend like nothing happened!” 

“Something happened, Blasius. Something we all know could happen at any time. We all hurt.” 

“You think you’re one of us? You aren’t! Putting the colors of the Third on doesn’t make you one of us, just like putting on the damned bird on your shoulder doesn’t make you our centurion.”

“Get your disrespectful ass into formation before I decide that flaying the skin off your back is a good morale boost for the troops.” Eliot said, advancing toward the man. 

With a fervent glint in his eyes Blasius pulled out his knife and launched at Eliot. Not expecting an attack from his own man, Eliot was slow to react. Before he could even raise his hands in a defensive block, Ronan in a blur of motion pinned Blasius down.

“I’ll kill you, I’ll rip your throat out, you son of a bitch!” Ronan shouted.

Eliot pulled Ronan off and the others came to restrain Blasius, but the man was lying passively, completely beaten on the ground. Once pulled up, Blasius started to sob, his powerful body shaking, tears streaking down his broad face. 

“What by all the gods were you trying to do, soldier? Get yourself killed? Attacking an officer, a centurion? You know what it will get you!” The Unbreakable standards for discipline were merciless. An attack on a centurion was considered treason.

“It will be a mercy,” Blasius choked. “I can’t, I simply can’t!” 

“Idiot! The weighted whip isn’t a salvation. You’ll be marked and crippled for life! You want to die, do it like an Unbreakable, on the battlefield! Do not dishonor your shield mate’s memory!” 

Blasius was still weeping, silently, almost undetectably. Eliot looked around at the faces of his men. He could see the pain and even hopelessness in some of their eyes. These were his men; Eliot couldn’t let them down. 

“Get him out of here. Take care of him. I’m going to find the first centurion and offer my own back for your stupidity.” 

“Sir, don’t,” Blasius found the lucidity and sense to plead with Eliot. “I deserve the punishment; I attacked you.”

“You do,” Eliot said. “But it wouldn’t do you any good, nor will it do any good for any of you,” Eliot addressed all his men. “When you fail at your duty, you fail your centurion and I take the penalty for it. I am your centurion. Your failure is just as much mine, and I deserve the lashing. I expect every single one of you there for my whipping. It is as much your punishment as it is mine.”

With those words Eliot strode toward Lucius’s office. At this time of day, if they weren’t deployed, Lucius was always there. Ronan hurried after Eliot. 

“Eliot.” Lucius smiled a warm smile, lifting his head from the paperwork spread in front of him. “What can I do for you?” 

Eliot stood at attention and saluted the first centurion. At the display of rigid protocol, Lucius’s face went dark. “Ronan, leave us.” Lucius said, looking behind Eliot. 

Eliot heard Ronan shift on his feet, but he didn’t look ready to comply with the first centurion’s order.  “Ronan move,” Eliot barked. 

The first centurion shook his head once Ronan was out of the room. “If I thought beating that boy would get me anywhere, I’d beat him bloody. He obeys no one but you, Eliot. That can’t go on forever,” Lucius reprimanded.

“Then you can put it as another one of my failures, sir,” Eliot said in his best soldier voice. 

“Eliot, I really hope you’re not about to do something idiotic. Go away and come back when you’ve thought it through, boy.” The first centurion’s voice sounded tired. 

“I’m here to report my failure, sir,” Eliot said as if he’d never heard the first centurion.

“What by all gods, boy!” Lucius looked furious now. “Sit your ass down; don’t go all model soldier on me. It doesn’t suit you.”

Eliot couldn’t help the sour look that escaped in the direction of the first centurion. 

“I’ve failed at my duty. I failed my centuria.” 

“Eliot, park your noble behind down!” Lucius yelled, pointing to the chair in front of him. “If you insist on having the skin taken off your back, I at least need to know what goes on in that brain of yours.”   

“I have failed my men,” Eliot repeated robotically, taking the offered seat. 

“Boy, am I going to beat you to find out why I’m beating you?” Lucius asked, leaning forward over the table.

Eliot stayed silent, his gaze fixed on a random spot right behind the first centurion. 

“Centurion, report!” Lucius ordered, his tone full of displeasure. 

“I’ve failed to uphold the discipline in my centuria, sir.” Eliot’s voice was unsure to his own ears, a slight, almost inaudible tremor creeping into it. 

“I haven’t seen any reports of insubordination from you.”

“I’m not reporting my men, sir; it’s my failure,” Eliot replied in a flat tone. 

“It’s not your failure, Eliot.” The first centurion’s tone was gentler, voice tired. “Your men are restless; it’s understandable. They have sustained losses.”

“I have sustained losses. They are mine now!” The words burst out before Eliot could process them. “I am their centurion now. Whatever baggage they come with is mine. I’m failing them. They lost a centurion and I’m a poor substitute for their loss.” 

“Is this what it’s about?” Lucius asked, leaning forward and capturing Eliot’s eyes. “To punish yourself, to alleviate some incomprehensible guilt? If it is, I could have done it as a private matter between us, not something that will go on your record.”

Eliot let out a choked laugh. “I am Calatis. My precious name will protect me from my own incompetence.”

“Eliot, I’m going to start smacking you around if you don’t stop this glorious guilt trip.” 

Eliot sighed and tipped his head back. “This isn’t about that, sir,” he admitted. “This isn’t about my guilt complex.”

“You have nothing to feel guilty about, Eliot,” Lucius dropped his voice, studying Eliot. “I might have already hinted I wanted you as my successor, but I’m not too proud to say I was wrong, if I thought you’d failed. The Third is in near disarray. You are just finding your standing as a centurion. I wasn’t expecting you to magically fix all the problems in a day. These things take time, Centurion.”

Eliot grimaced, he’d wanted the golden eagle, but right now he didn’t feel ready to be a centurion, let alone the first centurion. “You are still far from retirement.” 

“Not that far away, Eliot.” Lucius smiled. “In four years my twenty-five years are up, Aquilla the same. We won’t hang in here forever, and I need to know I’m leaving these men in capable hands, and you are it.”

Eliot’s face darkened, his eyes dropping down at his lap. “Sure, the politicians will be happy, a first rank noblemen as the first centurion. They have finally gotten their way.”

The nobility had long tried to put their hands on the Unbreakables. The life of an Unbreakable might be too strenuous for them to want to join, but they had always wished someone loyal to them would take over the reins of the troops. The Unbreakables were the ultimate guarantee of the people’s freedom and rights. Eliot’s ancestor, Lord Aelis Calatis, one of nine forefathers of the nation and a prominent military man had been the one who had inserted the failsafe into the Constitution. The Unbreakables had been given special status in the military and enough tools to be able to influence the current of politics should the ruling caste forget their covenant with the people. There have been times in history when the Unbreakables intervened and did so with brutal efficiency. The nobility had neither forgotten, nor forgiven those incidents. Yet it kept a dose of healthy fear in their hearts. In modern times the Unbreakables had pledged not to interfere. Supposedly the people now had enough power to help themselves. Eliot disagreed. The Constitution written by his ancestor and the other eight noblemen was yet to fulfill its promises. The Unbreakables could speed the process, but the first centurion was adamant about keeping the pledge to not interfere. 

“Eliot.” Lucius sounded exasperated, cutting short Eliot’s train of thought. “Sometimes you are dense. You could have been twice the Calatis and I wouldn’t have proposed you as my successor if I didn’t think you worthy. No one dares to intervene in the Unbreakables. We stay out of politics, and politics stay out of us. They dare to forget their part of the covenant and I’ll forget that Caelius, my dearest mentor and predecessor, pledged not to interfere.” 

Eliot shook his head and rubbed his face. “I don’t know, maybe. However getting back to our business, this isn’t a need to cleanse my guilty conscience.” 

“Good, you have nothing to feel guilty about,” Lucius stood up and came to stand in front of Eliot, leaning against the edge of the desk. “Eliot, you keep acting like all you are is your family name and your lineage, but nothing you have achieved in life was undeserved.”

“My lineage surely helped,” Eliot said sarcastically. “If in nothing else it kept me from being tortured and humiliated at the Academy for daring to step foot in the temple of military brilliance of the Alliance.” 

“Is it the pain of your newly acquired snow warrior speaking to me?” Lucius asked in a low voice, the lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth pained. Eliot wasn’t the only one who knew what went on behind the closed doors of the prestigious academies. 

“I don’t know what happened, but something did. He snarls at us like a wounded and cornered animal, and I don’t know how to help him, except that I would like to dig out each and every one of the dirt bags and have a nice chat with them.” 

“Eliot,” Lucius warned. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to.”

“I never said don’t. Just be discreet.”

The two men met gaze to gaze and an understanding passed through them. They protected their own; that was the sacrosanct law of the Unbreakables.

“So, what’s this about?” Lucius went back to their initial discussion.

“It’s my right to protect my men, sir,” Eliot said by way of explanation. “The men are restless, and it will not be long before they do something I can’t keep quiet about. All I have to offer for sacrifice is me. They need to know they still have a centurion who has their back. They need a common cause.” 

“And nothing gets Unbreakables mobilized faster than a centurion bleeding for them,” Lucius finished for Eliot. 

“Yes, sir,” Eliot agreed.

“And you doubt that you are the right man for the job.” Lucius pushed himself away from his desk, his eyes drifting toward the window. “I understand what you’re trying to do, but I don’t have to like it.” 

“The infraction is true, sir. There was an occasion of gross insubordination and I didn’t report it.” 

“Not reporting it means keeping quiet. It doesn’t mean coming to your first centurion and asking for a whipping, only avoiding giving the name of the man who committed the crime. Am I going to find out who he is?” 

“No, sir, not from me.” 

“Eliot, if I punish you for failure to maintain discipline and to report insubordination...” Lucius didn’t finish. 

There was no need to finish. Apart from treason it was the most serious infraction a centurion could commit. 

“I know, sir. I’ll take the whip.”

“Does your boy know what’s going to happen?” The unuttered ‘I’d rather not deal with Ronan gone rabid,’ hung unsaid. 

“He should realize it, but I’ll talk to him beforehand,” Eliot promised. 

Lucius nodded and turned to face Eliot once more. “I don’t like this, Centurion. I don’t like this at all,” he said before wrapping his arm around Eliot’s shoulders.  

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot faces the first centurion.

**Chapter 10**

 

Eliot faced the rising sun. He tipped his head back, allowing the gentle rays of light to warm his face. He took a deep breath, cleansing his mind of any thought. He could feel Ronan behind his back, his boy’s eyes boring into Eliot’s bare skin. 

“Ready?” It was the first centurion. Eliot turned to face the man. 

“Yes, sir,” Eliot said in a voice full of firmness he didn’t feel. 

“Master,” Ronan started.

“Ronan.” The warning was clear in Eliot’s voice. “You promised! Don’t let me down, boy.”

Ronan gave a short nod and any emotion disappeared from his face, his expression going blank. 

“Come on, kid.” Aquilla pulled Ronan away. 

Eliot looked at the retreating back of the boy. Nothing showed to the world. 

The first centurion’s arm rested over Eliot’s shoulder. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” 

“Suck it up, Centurion,” Eliot retorted in a mock stern voice.

Lucius said nothing. His eyes roamed once more over Eliot before he pulled Eliot in for a brief hug. “Hang in there, Centurion.” he murmured into Eliot’s ear. They walked to the parade ground, where the whipping post was already erected and the centuria assembled. 

Eliot’s eyes ran over the rows of men, all of them looking glum and tense. Eliot found Blasius in the first row, flanked by two of the strongest in his contubernium, as Eliot had ordered. He didn’t want the man doing anything stupid. 

Lucius secured Eliot’s hands to the whipping post. Eliot had never been whipped with the weighted whip, but he’d seen the results once. The man had collapsed, his skin hanging in bloody ribbons. He knew the first centurion wasn’t going to go that far with him. He hadn’t committed treason, but he was going to wear the marks for life.   

“A centurion is the shield for his men.” The first centurion’s voice boomed over the silence of the watching men. “But you are as much his shield as he is yours. This is the responsibility of every single one of you.” Lucius let his displeasure about the situation seep through his tone. “Learn from this.” 

Eliot closed his eyes and waited for the bite of the whip. The first strike blazed across his shoulders, and everything dissolved into fire and pain that seemed to go on forever.

“Done, kid. We’re done.” The voice in Eliot’s ear brought him back to reality.

Eliot felt the wetness of tears on his face, but he couldn’t stop them. Lucius’s hands reached to free him from his bindings. All Eliot could see were the bruises and scrapes on his wrist where he’d struggled against the bindings. Eliot stayed leaning against the post until he regained enough strength to breath without choking on the very air he was drawing into his lungs. Through the pain, he still could feel Lucius shielding him with his body. Eliot thought he would collapse when he was pulled from the post but Lucius’s hand steadied him until Ronan moved to take most of Eliot’s body weight. 

Eliot took a step from the whipping post, and the entire centuria knelt, bowing their heads in an archaic show of fealty to their centurion. 

“Dismissed.” Eliot tried to let his voice carry over to his men, but he was too weak. 

“Dismissed,” Drusus, Eliot’s optio, bellowed, replicating Eliot’s order, standing up from the kneeling position.                      

Everything around Eliot was pain. He could feel, see and hear nothing but the searing pain. He knew it was his boy’s hands that laid him down on the bed. Aquilla and Lucius were also in the room, and somewhere Eliot could hear the doctor rifling through drawers of medical supplies.Eliot’s universe was only big enough to include Ronan. He felt someone’s sure hands as they started to clean the wounds and dress the worst of them. Somewhere from afar, he could hear Ronan’s muttered protests. 

“Ronan, let the doctor do his job,” Aquilla said from across the room.

“Go away,” Ronan cut Aquilla off. “He doesn’t need you.”

Eliot tried to reprimand Ronan, but the endorphins his body produced to counterbalance the trauma were wearing off, and the haze veiling his consciousness grew thicker. 

“Boy, don’t you growl at me,” Aquilla snapped. “There was enough beating for a day. Don’t make me drag you out right now and give you a good thrashing for insubordination. Move. Now. You should be with your contubernia.”

Silence. 

“There, all patched up; you can beat each other some more,” the doctor said in his usual caustic tone. “Apparently the Kalmacians trying to kill you every day isn’t enough.”

The doctor’s last words were softer, or maybe Eliot was losing the battle to stay conscious because all he could here was the rumble of Lucius’s voice as he answered the doctor. 

“Here, take this.” The doctor held pills to Eliot’s mouth. 

Eliot shook his head.  

“Boy, don’t be stupid, take it!” Lucius ordered, coming to tower over Eliot.

Eliot didn’t understand his sudden stubbornness. 

 Lucius’s hand stroked Eliot’s short hair. He mumbled something and sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on Eliot’s knee.

Eliot cried. He cried for the men who never returned home, he cried for Blasius who was never going to hold his shield mate again, he cried for the brilliant boy, whose only infraction was being born in the mountains of Tamor, he cried for his own boy, still hurting so badly. He cried for his brothers in the Third who were lost forever. He hadn’t been their centurion, but Unbreakables shared everything. They were his men as much as he’d been leading that charge. Now they were a name on the wall, like so many others, like his Ronan might be one day. 

Eventually the sobs slowed, and the tears stopped. Eliot felt tired, but relieved.

“Take these, boy,” Lucius held the pills to him. “Come on, it’s a painkiller. You need it. Take it and I’ll get out of here before you come to your senses and try to bite my head off for showing human sympathy.”

Eliot swallowed the pills and allowed the darkness to envelop him. 

#

Eliot looked up at the short tap at the door, surprised at the darkness outside of his window. He’d taken advantage of the fact that he was still recovering from the whipping and had spent the day catching up on paperwork.

The short knock hadn’t finished echoing off the walls of his office when Aquilla sauntered in.

“Leave us,” Aquilla told Ronan who was sitting on the floor filling in the interminable forms required by the bureaucratic apparatus of the Alliance. Eliot sometimes wondered when they expected the military to have time for actual fighting if their entire day was occupied with filing reports.

Ronan gave Aquilla a once over and went back to his task without a word.

Aquilla grabbed Ronan by his nape and pulled him up. “Didn’t you hear me, soldier?” he asked, the fury of disobeyed Unbreakable centurion resonating in the room.

“Aquilla, what is this about?” Eliot asked, his own anger rising over Aquilla’s demands and presumptions. This was Eliot’s office, and Aquilla dared command his men, his own shield mate. Eliot stood up, his still raw body protesting the movement.

“This is about Ronan having no clue how to obey orders.” Aquilla took two long strides and came to stand at Eliot’s desk.

“Ronan, leave us,” Eliot ordered.

Ronan hesitated only a fraction of second. He bowed to Eliot and left the room.

“You were saying?” Eliot crossed his arms over his chest and gave Aquilla his best condescending look.

“I was saying.” Aquilla leaned over Eliot’s desk. “Ronan is not outside of the hierarchy of the Unbreakables. You need to teach him to obey orders.”

“He obeys orders, as you just witnessed.” Eliot tried to sound calm despite his anger.

“He obeys you, Eliot, no one else. This is the Unbreakables, not your personal fief. That boy needs to follow orders,” Aquilla leaned more toward Eliot, the flat of his palm coming down onto the surface of the desk once to emphasize his words. “I kept my mouth shut long enough. I thought he needed time. I thought you both needed time. But this has gone on for long enough. I had to physically restrain him yesterday. He disobeyed both mine and the first centurion’s orders”

“Yesterday was hard on him,” Eliot said in a clipped voice. He knew what his whipping had done to Ronan. The boy had been like a caged tiger the entire day, snapping and snarling at everyone until Eliot had finally ordered him onto his knees. Ronan had sprawled at his feet in misery before eventually settling down.

“It was hard on all of us,” Aquilla shouted. “Do you think Lucius enjoyed beating you to near unconsciousness?”

“Well, I didn’t enjoy it either,” Eliot spat back.

“You provoked it, you arrogant, self-centered bastard! You asked for it to look like a martyr to your men.”

Eliot wasn’t used to seeing Aquilla like this--vibrating with nervous energy. The man was usually calm and confident, with an easy smile on his lips. 

“I did, what I had to do to keep my men together.” Eliot fought to keep his voice level. “My men are still suffering. They are not full force yet, and we are already scheduled for deployment. I’ll be damned if I’m bringing men home in caskets.”

Aquilla let out a long breath. His head hung for a second before he pushed himself off of the desk and took a step away from it. “You’re a good centurion, Eliot,” Aquilla said, the fire gone from his voice. “You are good with men, and you are good at inspiring them to follow you. But what you did was cutting corners. It was manipulative and unkind both to your men and to Lucius. You forced your men’s loyalty to shift onto you. Lucius is the enemy now. He was the one to wield the whip which scorched their centurion.” 

Eliot knew he’d used Lucius, but he’d seen no other way of making those men his in a short time. He’d been centurion for only weeks, taking office from a dead centurion. In the men’s minds Eliot had been associated with failure and the death of their comrades and centurion. Eliot needed the men to think of him as theirs. He needed to gain their loyalty. Suffering for them, taking the punishment deserved by another would shift their allegiance. His blood bought their loyalty; the price had been cheap as far as Eliot was concerned. Every soldier now wanted to protect his centurion.

“The men know the first centurion did what he had to do,” Eliot offered, knowing in his mind the argument was weak. The first reaction was always anger and hurt toward the one administering the punishment, no matter how irrational those thoughts. It had been a cost Eliot had been willing to accept. “And it’s not your place to discuss it. The first centurion made his decision. You will not question him.” Eliot looked Aquilla in the eyes, pulling at the fire in him, forcing Aquilla to avert his eyes for a second before the man got hold of himself and met Eliot’s gaze once more.

“You are correct,” Aquilla conceded with a short nod, falling back into the chair sitting before Eliot’s desk. “It’s not my place. It was the first centurion’s decision, and I have to accept it, no matter what I think of it. And I think you abused his fondness for you. However, I came here to discuss Ronan.”

“Ronan obeys orders,” Eliot repeated, his jaw setting in a stubborn clench.

“No,” Aquilla corrected. “Ronan obeys your orders and you like it that way. Eliot,” he said, standing up once more, “it cannot go on. He nearly attacked the first centurion when we took you to medical. If I hadn’t restrained him, he would have.”

“He was—” 

“No excuses, Eliot,” Aquilla interrupted. “You know as well as I do, there is no excuse for it. Lucius chose to ignore it, but you know the penalty.”

Ronan would have been whipped to near death for attacking the first centurion and thrown out of the Unbreakables.

“You need to put a stop to it, Eliot,” Aquilla said. “Ronan is an Unbreakable. You put the beret into his hands; you’re responsible. It’s your duty to turn him into one.”

“Ronan is one of the best Unbreakables.” Eliot’s temper exploded at the unjust accusation. Aquilla was his friend. He liked Aquilla. He couldn’t reconcile this man’s prejudiced words with the image he had of him.

“He’s one of the best warriors, Eliot.” Aquilla said in a calm tone, clearly trying to defuse Eliot’s anger. “He is no Unbreakable. We are a brotherhood. We survive through the loyalty we owe each other.”

“Ronan is loyal.” 

“To you, Eliot. He obeys only you; he is loyal to you, and he cares only about you. That boy would have no problem slitting our throats in the night if he thought it would benefit you in any way.”

“That’s not true,” Eliot snapped, not finding any better argument than the childish response.

“You know it’s true. And what’s worse, you like it that way. When you brought him to us, I warned you the boy was broken. You didn’t heed my warning.”

“Ronan isn’t broken. He’s stronger and more resilient than anyone I know!”

“Strong men break too, Eliot. You’ve been at this long enough to know everyone breaks. They just break differently.” Aquilla’s eyes were soft and compassionate and Eliot hated the pity he saw there.

“Ronan isn’t broken,” Eliot repeated. They didn’t know Ronan like he did. Ronan was capable. Ronan was strong. They hadn’t seen the fire and determination in the eyes of a dying sixteen year old as he fought to stay alive against all odds. They hadn’t seen the fierce resolve to avenge his friend’s death. Ronan, the orphan boy from Shirak, had conquered Eliot the very first day they met when Eliot picked the near dead boy out of the trash and rushed him to hospital. He was the best warrior Eliot had ever seen on a battlefield, and he was his.

Aquilla shook his head. “His soul is dead, Eliot. There is no person in that shell.”

“That’s not true. He is a person. Just like you and I.” 

Eliot had heard those arguments so many times, both from Aquilla and from Gaius, who had been his second during his time as head of the Primi. They were wrong. 

“Eliot.” Aquilla’s voice was pained and he was silent for a moment before continuing, “I wasn’t attacking him. I like that boy. I ache for the life he had. And I agree he is a magnificent warrior, but he’s broken. He needs help to at least become a partially functional human being. He cannot keep acting this way.”

“He’s functional.” Eliot knew he was repeating himself, but Aquilla was wrong. They were all wrong, all blind to Ronan’s brilliance.

“Eliot, he doesn’t have any friends. He doesn’t even really interact with anyone. We are Unbreakables. Our bond with each other is what makes us into one. He bonds with no one but you.And I get that his utter and complete dependency of you is probably as intoxicating as opium to the high and mighty noble that I know still lives in you.”

Eliot let out an inarticulate growl, bringing his hand down onto the desk. “I am not that! I am one of you. I did everything to fit in, and you people still see me as the outsider.” 

“You people?” Aquilla said sarcastically. “Yes, I can see you’ve blended in with us peasants.”

Eliot’s rising anger evaporated as he saw the boyish smile on Aquilla’s face. Aquilla had always taunted Eliot mercilessly about his background, but he’d also been the one to practically drag Eliot into the life of the Unbreakables, holding his hand as Eliot learned how to interact with people who were as foreign to him as inhabitants of another planet. The fact that Eliot was mostly seen as one of the Unbreakables was in large part due to Aquilla and Gaius, Eliot’s second in the Primi.

Eliot shook his head and gave Aquilla a weak smile. “Ass,” he muttered, mimicking the exact thing he learned from Aquilla, to throw an insult at a friend with a smile on his lips and no heat behind the word. Eliot’s own tactics had been crueler despite being disguised behind pretty words and upper crust manners. Eliot’s natural instincts resulted in arguments followed by scorched earth. Aquilla understood compromise and retreat to fight another day. 

Aquilla’s smile brightened further. “Ah, that’s better,” he said with a wink. “I like you better when you’re not trying to murder me for having an opinion. You have a weird vibe when you get angry that sends chills down my spine.” Aquilla backed his words with a demonstrative shudder.

Eliot knew the man was trying to defuse a situation that had escalated too fast and too far and he was grateful for it. Eliot always had a problem with backing down.

“Eliot, I’m allowed to disagree with you. You know that right?” Aquilla asked, coming to stand by Eliot’s side.

Eliot rubbed his face with his palms. He leaned against his desk, turning his head to look at Aquilla. “The noble brat in me is trying to come to terms with that fact,” he said with a grin, repeating Aquilla’s favorite appellative for him.

“You need to do something about Ronan.” Aquilla said, serious again.

“I’ll talk to him.” Ronan kept away from other soldiers, something Eliot had remarked himself several times. It was time for him to push Ronan more.

“You might want to consider professional help.” 

“He’s not broken, Aquilla,” Eliot said with finality. “What he went through just shaped him differently than most of us. It doesn’t mean he’s broken. That very difference is what makes him a great warrior.”

Aquilla shook his head. “I’ll take my victories in small doses” He’d stepped to the far side of the room, his eyes still on Eliot, not hostile, but not friendly either. “He observes the chain of command, and he bonds with us. It will be enough for me. The rest is between the two of you.”

“You’re damn right it is.” Eliot crossed his hands over his chest and stared across the room at Aquilla.

“Again with those weird vibes,” Aquilla muttered before leaving. 

#

  
Ronan hovered outside of Eliot’s office after he’d been kicked out. He debated eavesdropping. He liked Aquilla well enough. Aquilla was friendly and easy going, despite his rank, but Aquilla also thought he had the right to dictate things to his master. Ronan resented him for that. For that same reason, Ronan disliked the first centurion. 

Eliot was majestic. Ronan had seen enough asses who thought of themselves as all powerful. Even the ones that wielded some real power, not just huge egos, had no hope of comparing to Eliot. His master’s will wasn’t meant to bend to anyone or any rules of this world, and Ronan would scorch the world without a second thought to make sure it stayed that way.

Ronan looked around, as he walked away from the door. Eavesdropping wasn’t the best way of pleasing Eliot. Fighting wasn’t either, but he longed to kick someone’s ass. Stupid! Master would kick his. He dragged his feet in the direction of the mess hall. The bushes behind it were a safe haven for some of Ronan’s little rescues. Ronan rattled the nuts in his pocket, and the squirrel with half a tail, the other half lost in a rat trap, dashed toward him. While it gorged on the offered nuts and seeds, Ronan absently patted it, enjoying the feeling of the plush fur under his fingers.  The grey fur ball skidded out of the sight after polishing off the treats. He sighed, slapping his hands against his knees and looked around for a new way of passing his time. Not seeing anything worthy of his attention, Ronan made his way back, judging enough time had passed.

Master eyed him pensively as Ronan walked back to his quarters. Ronan felt his ire toward Aquilla rise. Master looked unsettled, and it was all Aquilla’s doing.

“Get in here!” Master looked and sounded short of patience. 

“Master.” Ronan bowed his head, in an attempt to placate the man’s temper.

“I’ve told you several times you need to make an effort to fit in here. I don’t need Aquilla, or anyone else parading around, pointing out my men’s shortcomings. My shortcomings.” Eliot’s voice exploded at the end, his anger and displeasure sweeping over Ronan.

Ronan’s knees bent under the weight of his master’s displeasure. He was ready to sprawl before Eliot and beg for forgiveness, but master’s fingers closed over his nape, keeping him upright.

“Don’t you cower before me!” Anger poured from Master. “How many times do I need to tell you not to cower before me?” Master shook Ronan, demanding an answer. “Are you trying to make Aquilla’s point for him that you are some broken, simpering thing? Damaged goods?”

Ronan’s entire being demanded that he prostrate himself before his master in an attempt to calm his anger, but Master’s words and will kept Ronan upright. He forced a scowl onto his features and snarled back, “I’m not damaged!” 

Ronan hurt. His entire body hurt and his soul wept, scorched by Eliot’s anger. Eliot wanted a fight, so Ronan fought. He glared and snarled at the man who meant everything to him. 

“Then stop acting like it,” Eliot threw at him angrily.

“Yes, Master,” Ronan managed in a soft voice, his eyes lowering to the ground, unable to hold Master’s gaze.

“Don’t make me repeat myself again Ronan.” Master let go of Ronan and the wall he was pressed against was the only thing that kept him upright. “You are an Unbreakable now, act like one. These are your brothers. I want to see you act like it. These are my men; you owe them your loyalty.”

“Yes, sir,” Ronan replied in a hoarse voice. There was no need for master to tell him that whoever belonged to master should have Ronan’s loyalty. As long as they were loyal to Eliot, Ronan would kill and die for them.

“You make friends with them, and you socialize with them. I don’t want to ever hear from anyone that you are inadequate or incapable of normal interaction. You are mine Ronan.” Eliot’s fingers dug into Ronan’s jaw. “Mine is never inadequate or damaged. You understand me, boy? Mine is not weak!”

“I’m not weak!” Ronan’s eyes met Master’s.

People always saw Ronan as weak and worthless. Ronan didn’t care; he thought the same of them. His master’s eyes, however, looked at him differently. They were demanding of strength and perfection, and Ronan would die proving the man right. Even if he was shattered to thousands of pieces, he would put himself back piece by piece so that his master wouldn’t see the broken, but the whole.

“I’m not damaged!” Ronan put all the strength he possessed behind the words.

“Good.” Eliot leaned forward and brushed his lips over Ronan’s, his fingers still digging into Ronan’s jaw. “Show them how wrong they are, boy, to doubt my judgment, to doubt you.”

“Yes, Master.”

Eliot took a step back, releasing Ronan from his captivity.

“Bed,” he ordered with a tilt of his head.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taurin begins to show his worth as a soldier.

**Chapter 11**

 

 

 

Taurin crouched as he listened to Lieutenant Manius of the snipers go over their role in the war games. They would be pitted against the Second Centuria who was playing the role of Kalmacia and the satellite territories that marched under the United Kalmacian flag, once an empire and now a co-prosperity union or some other euphemistic name. Taurin cared little about the semantics or the politics. They shot at him, so he shot back. Their job was to try to cut off the brains of the enemy, infiltrate, and wipe out command and control.

“Sir,” Taurin said before he realized he’d said it aloud. He was looking at the map; there was a better way, but he was the new guy and not much liked. Manius had acknowledged Taurin’s shooting, but Taurin knew he was in Harold ’ s spot, a man who had been well liked and whose death was still fresh in everyone’s mind. At least from the pictures, Harold had sported an easy grin, a gold tooth, and hair that he ’ d kept spiked and just inside regulation length. He’d also been everyone’s friend. Taurin seemed to irritate them just by breathing. 

“Spit it out,” Manius said with undisguised irritation when Taurin added nothing to his sir.

“Sir?”

“Taurin, you’re not the chatty type. If you’re interrupted a briefing, you have something to say. Don’t sit there looking like a dumb ass because that’s one thing you’re not. You might be the coldest and remotest bastard I’ve ever seen, but stupid is not one of your attributes. Now start talking.”

“There’s a better way. We could end this early.” Taurin fell silent. He didn’t know these men well. He was still processing Manius’s words.

“Show me.” Manius tossed the pointer at Taurin.

Taurin scrambled to his feet and went to the map. “We go up here. They think they’re protected by geography.”

“They are,” Manius said. “We can’t get up those cliffs and we’d be seen anyway.”

“I can. They can’t see us in the dark. I’ve seen Ronan climb them. Pius and Rabinus both climb. It will work, and it will be good for morale and the centurion. Our performance in our last full training mission was disheartening.”

“You noticed our centurion getting the skin beaten off his back?”

“Yes, sir.” Taurin had noticed. He couldn’t make the pieces fit together in his mind, but he’d noticed. He’d noticed the real pain that had been in the men’s eyes. He’d seen the loyalty that had seemed to flow both ways. 

Manius’s eyes were back on the map. “This looks crazy.”

“Unbreakables are supposed to be crazy. It’s only four of us. You’ll have a contingency plan.”

Manius gave Taurin a long look. “Make it happen. Your plan, your lead.”

#

Taurin knew that even he had a small grin on his face. A full war games drill had never ended at sunrise. The sun hadn’t climbed over the mountains in the east that stood sentry over their desert plateau when they’d lit up the headquarters of the Second Centuria. The red glow of the laser sights and the smoke of the training grenades had been “their enemies” first and only warning. According to the rules of engagement, headquarters had been captured with all enemy combatants neutralized. The falcon fluttered on the flagpole as the sun rose in the sky.

The jeep roared up the access road. Lucius, Aquilla, and Sanders all stepped out. Aquilla shook his head at his men who were all sitting in the sand with their heads down. “Dead. Very dead , ” Aquilla muttered, his eyes moving from his men to the edge of the cliff.

“Yes, sir,” Aquilla’s optio said. “We weren’t expecting that.”

“You must prepare for every contingency, no matter how implausible. They didn’t get here by a magic carpet or glue feathers on their arms and fly. They climbed like ordinary mortals and annihilated you.” Aquilla held his head in his hands. “All dead.”

“Sorry, sir,” his second muttered, his eyes on the ground.

“Don’t you mumble and try to escape by looking guilty,” Aquilla said. “You just wiped out a centuria. You look me in the eye and take your lumps. You remember that others can be pretty damn inventive when they’re desperate. The Third wanted this more than us, and they just beat our asses and properly humiliated us. Congratulations, gentlemen,” Aquilla said to the four soldiers of the Third. “I’ll take my men home and deal with the casualties.”

“Don’t be too hard on them,” Sanders said with a laugh. “I think they might have needed those wings to manage that cliff in the dark.”

“Tamorian boy. I’ve been to Tamor. The country is one cliff after another. Of course the boy can climb. He walked over a mountain in the blizzard of the century. We were sleeping, no other word for it. Congratulations, Centurion. It was a brilliant strategy.”

“I’d love to say it was mine,” Sanders said with a shrug, “but I was informed only in the vaguest of manners after they’d already departed. Manius told me that Taurin swore they were climbable.” Sanders peered down at the sheer cliff. “In the dark with no light.”

“We used night vision goggles, sir,” Taurin said.

“Just please tell me you used ropes. I’ve tried that cliff in the daytime with full equipment.”

“Yes, Master,” Ronan piped in. “Taurin wouldn’t let us free climb. He gets all bossy. Told us we weren’t out here for recreation.”

“He was right, boy. You led this mission, Taurin?” Sanders asked.

“Yes, sir. It was my idea, sir.” Taurin clamped his mouth shut. He had no rank. He’d get beaten for arrogance. Sanders was nobility; he wouldn’t reward an uppity Tamorian boy.

“Good job. They lied about your tactical skills on your transcripts also, didn’t they?”

“I haven’t seen what you were sent, sir.” 

“Careful and neutral. Something that doesn’t suit you at all. They sent me a box of lies full of discipline reports and no mention that between being a pain in the ass you could be fucking brilliant. I’d put the brilliant part up front and bury the pain in the ass, especially as I think the pain in the ass is distinctly their fault. You four are on liberty until tomorrow. Go into town and have fun. You earned it.”

“All day?” Ronan’s voice was infectious with excitement. “The carnival’s in town.”

Sanders smiled. “Don’t I know boy. You’ve reminded me of it every five minutes. Go have fun, but do not bring home any pets. No goldfish in little bowls, no flea circus.”

“Master.”

“Don’t look innocent. I know you .”

Taurin wanted to ask about the pets. He knew Ronan liked animals. Two mangy looking cats roamed the trash bins behind the mess hall, and he ’ d seen Ronan collecting chicken bones and other scraps. The cats wound around Ronan ’ s ankles at every opportunity, squalling for food and being a nuisance. 

“You never let me keep any of them,” Ronan whined, his eyes wide.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood. Go, boy, before I change my mind.”

#

Taurin lay on his bunk, curled to one side, his eyes on the battered book he’d borrowed from the base library, the words of the men’s chatter drifting over his head. The unexpected free day had been met with cheers, back slapping, and even a few cartwheels. The men of the Seventh Contubernium were sprawled around the barrack’s room. Dice and cards competed for the men’s attention. Taurin avoided both games; he didn’t gamble. Gambling wasn’t an unheard of vice in Tamor. During the long winters, many men slipped off to the warmth and camaraderie of the local drinking establishment and played a game of strategy and chance with a simple board and colored marbles. Taurin had left the country too young to acquire more than a rudimentary skill, and he avoided the games secretly played at the Academy. He didn’t need to court trouble.

“You ready?” Ronan called from the doorway. He was dressed to go out in dress camouflage with his blue beret cocked fashionably on his head.

“Go on. I’m just going to read.”

“We have an all day pass, and you’re going to read.” Ronan sprang into the room like some overgrown sprite and snatched Taurin’s book away. “We’re going to the carnival.”

“Go with the others,” Taurin said and reached for his book.

“I want to go with you.”

“I’m not some new challenge to conquer.” Taurin stared at Ronan, letting his hazel eyes rest on the centurion’s shield mate. He shouldn’t be alone with him, not as an un-bonded master. Taurin grimaced over the mind picture. He was untrained; he didn’t have the right to call himself a master. At home he’d be supervised until he bonded and took his place among his peers. “You don’t even like me. I’ve heard you say it before you deny it.” Taurin stopped as he saw the hurt flash across Ronan’s blue eyes before the face loss all animation. “Ronan, I can’t go. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“How did you mean it? You attack our centurion. He bled for you,” Ronan snarled. “I thought it was getting better.”

“Ronan, please.” He couldn’t explain it, not his personal taboo, not his empty finances.

“Forget it. You can climb, and you can shoot, but you still win the asshole of the year award.”

“Ronan, I can’t go. Don’t ask me to explain.”

“I get when I’m not welcome.”

“It’s not that.” Taurin rolled to a sitting position and wrapped his arms around his knees. “I just can’t go.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Ronan turned with a decided glare, his boots beating a tattoo across the bare concrete.

“Ronan,” Taurin called, scrambling to his feet.

“You already said no. You don’t have to say more.”

Ronan was angry. He’d tell his master at some point, but Taurin could live through Sanders’s punishments. He’d endured enough along with the strange and incomprehensible chats afterward. It was the anger in Ronan’s eyes and the touch of hurt that Taurin knew was just below the surface which spurred him to say more, to say more than he ever had.

“I send my money home. I can’t go out. I’m sorry.” He swallowed, trying to find a way to mention the other, but Ronan was already speaking.

“Taurin.” The single word was whisper soft.

“I’m sorry.” Taurin shrugged, feeling self-conscious, knowing that he wasn’t hearing dice clatter on the table or men swearing over a bad hand of cards. “I have family.”

Kadmos moved first. He’d been hovering between the dice game and the cards, not playing either, but offering good humored advice to all the players. He reached into his pants and pulled out a handful of crumpled denarius notes of different denominations. Gnaeus swept the disorganized money off the improvised table of the card players and dumped it on Taurin’s bunk. Otho, who wasn’t tight with either the card or dice guys, reached into his footlocker and unfolded some bills from between his socks.

“I was saving to buy a comic book I saw in town — vintage Attila the Terrible. I’m sure it will still be there.”

“I can’t take this.”

Kadmos put a heavy hand on Taurin’s shoulder. “I’m head of this contubernium. There’s nothing on your sleeve, soldier. We’re lounging because you’re fabulously good at middle of the night rock climbing. A day of rest is worth a little spare change. If we’re playing cards with it, we’re not worried about losing it. Put the money in your pocket and go enjoy yourself.”

“But — ” 

“No buts. Simple choice here, boy. You can pick up the money or spend the rest of the day running laps around the training ground. Your choice, and I’m serious, soldier.”

“It’s not mine,” Taurin protested.

Vitus from the dice side of the room strolled to Taurin’s bunk and dropped a handful of cash into the pile. He stirred the loot together, a mixture of colorful bills. “Don’t think we’ll ever figure out who it belongs to. You better take it, or we’ll be squabbling over who gets it. You know the centurion is death on fighting in the barracks,” Vitus drawled. “Consider it doing the courageous brotherhood thing and preventing fighting in the contubernium.”

Kadmos wadded up the bills and shoved them into Taurin’s pocket. “Go. I really don’t want to spend the afternoon watching you run laps. It’s boring supervising punishment.”

“I’d run without supervision.”

“I know you would.” 

Taurin ducked as Kadmos tried to ruffle his hair.

“I can’t keep up with what goes on in your head, but I know you’re honest, most likely far too honest for your own good from where you’ve been and the way Sanders treats you. I don’t know much about those fancy schools, and Sanders is about the only high and mighty noble I can stand, but somebody didn’t treat you right. Can’t change that, but we can treat you right. Go have fun. That’s an order in case you’re still in doubt.” Kadmos pushed Taurin toward the door. “Eat, drink, and be merry.”

“I’m not good at those things,” Taurin said in desperation.

“Then you’re in training, and you have a good training partner. Ronan will eat one of everything and wash it all down with bitter ale. Just keep him away from the animals. If he comes back with a pony, you’re explaining that to Sanders. Now go.”

Ronan grabbed Taurin’s hand and pulled him forward. “I’d never thought of a pony. I wonder if there’s enough grass.”

“No,” Taurin said, “but goats would do fine.”

“You’re too practical. A pony would be more fun.”

“Ponies take hay and grain; a goat can live on the weeds and be tied under the portico.”

“Can’t ride a goat.”

“Can you ride?”

“How hard can it be?”

“Harder than it looks, I’m sure.”

They were walking down the road toward the bus stop. Taurin didn’t want to think about his teammates’ money in his pocket. He didn’t want to think that he was heading to the city on a day of liberty. He didn’t want to think he had a Blessed walking with him. Ronan was of Shirak. Did the boy know? Could the boy know? Even in Tamor the secrets were well buried. 

He glanced over at Ronan. The boy was nearly skipping, a child going out for a day of play. Taurin knew Ronan was deadly; you couldn’t live in the barracks and not hear of Ronan’s exploits. He was also supposedly fiercely loyal to Sanders. Ronan called the centurion master, but he was going out alone. Taurin had seen him argue with Sanders, something never permitted in a Tamorian bond mate. The bonded couple was one.

“You’ve gone all quiet again,” Ronan needled as they waited for the bus.

“I’m not a talker,” Taurin mumbled, trying to stay at least one pace away from Ronan. He’d been told to go out with the boy; maybe it negated the taboo of being at his side. Taurin could feel the power in Sanders. It made no sense. Tamorians knew the Blessing could fall on outsiders . But on Alliance nobility? Eliot’s direct ancestors had destroyed Tamor.

“I don’t need a narrative to know that,” Ronan snarked, spinning around and taking in everyone at the bus stop with a quick glance. “Smile, have fun, entertain me.”

They were the only blue berets. The other soldiers eyed them uneasily and kept their distance. The bus ran every fifteen minutes and was always crowded with the men and women who lived off base , with civilian workers returning home , and with soldiers going off base for shopping and socializing . 

“It’s not my place,” Taurin murmured.

“Not your place to go have fun. You act like I have something catching.”

“They can overhear us.”

“They’re more worried about remembering to pick up baby formula than our yakking. We’re already known as the crazy ones.”

“I like my privacy.”

“You’re cold and remote. Sanders’s ice man is one of the nicer things you’re called. They say you let your heart freeze as well as your fingers.”

Taurin turned away from Ronan. He could say the same of Ronan, but why would he? The Blessing shaped them, held them apart. He was glad to see the approach of the bus on the road. It was a battered vehicle with dust caking the back windows and advertisements on the side for money lenders and cheap jewelers. There was nothing he could tell Ronan. He couldn’t organize his own thoughts, let alone teach another. He didn’t have the experience or the training. 

It was Ronan and Eliot who were bonded. Ronan had to know. He only settled around Eliot. Taurin couldn’t be the only one who saw the defiance around the other officers. The feel was unmistakable. Taurin had only known his brother; the Blessed kept a low profile in Tamor despite the easing of the laws. It was far too soon to trust the Alliance. His brother had called to Taurin’s soul, settling it, containing his fire. Ronan’s call was unsettled. Instead of smooth water, it was jagged and broken, treacherous rapids and whirlpools, rocks and pointed sticks fighting the current. Something wasn’t right with Ronan, or maybe it was the incompleteness of the bond. The centurion couldn’t know how to close it. One born of the mountains had to close the ring .

“Come on,” Ronan called as the bus pulled to a stop, not seeming to notice Taurin’s silence. They found a seat toward the back, the smell of diesel fumes strong. Ronan stretched his legs in front of him and leaned back in the seat. “Well, what are we doing today besides glaring at me?”

“You wanted me to come.”

“Do you have a problem with me?” Ronan tipped his head back and looked at the bus roof before openly staring at Taurin. “Otho begs to crawl into your lap and you ignore the poor kid. Eliot about falls over himself to be decent to you. You look at me like I’m three-day-old carrion left on your doorstep. You get all bossy in a good way, in charge and sure like today when we were climbing that cliff. It was kinda nice. ”

Taurin looked out the window at the scrub trees and grasses and the low-slung houses lining the road. Taurin had unfurled a part of himself he desperately tried to hide. He couldn’t be a Tamorian master. He was bound to the Unbreakables. It was the modern world. Ronan had seen. He was of Shirak; of course, he felt it. The blue-eyed _shinzella_ of Shirak had knelt for Tamorian masters for centuries, long before the world had seen the Alliance. It was their ancient world, a time so lost to the centuries that Taurin couldn’t even translate the word. It became slave in Unified, but the shinzella was never a slave. He or she held the fire that burned in the shinzlan. They were the second face, obedient and invisible to ignorant outsiders, but without them the masters were lost to the gods, the Blessing slipping through their fingers, destroyed by rage and lust and arrogance.  

Taurin was Tamorian; the mountains ran in his blood. The bond was his birthright. He ’ d left his world young. Someday he ’ d have to return and take a bond mate. Without the one who would complete his soul, he would always be lost. He needed a warrior to bow his head and to roar with the fierceness of the Seven Peaks guarding Tamor. Ronan spoke the word master, his soul screamed of his status, but he wasn ’ t one with the centurion. They were still two sparks and not one blaze.

“ Ronan, ” Taurin started. He ’ d have to say something. The boy was looking at Taurin with those enormous blue eyes.  “ Ronan, ” Taurin tried again,  “ My culture is different. My family is very traditional. You are of Shirak. You must know of some of it.”

“Shirak is just a wasteland. There is nowhere to be from.”

“You’re with the centurion.”

“His Shirak whore, you mean?”

“No,” Taurin said, angered at the implication as well as horrified that Ronan was blind to himself. “Ronan, you must see. You belong to him because you are from Shirak.”

“ You mean we make good slaves . ”

“No, Ronan. I mean you carry his fire. You must see it,” Taurin insisted. “You hardly tolerate the others.”

“Now you want me to be a social butterfly also. I thought you were different than the others.” Ronan turned away. His eyes now focused out the window.

“No, Ronan .” Taurin didn’t want to lie to Ronan, but he wasn ’ t going to explain the intricacies of Tamorian bonding. It was private and sacred and not appropriate for a crowded and noisy bus. He was also not bonded. A master should guide the couple. Ronan was bonded with Sanders; Taurin had no doubts. He’d seen the boy’s eyes as the first centurion’s whip had landed on Sanders’s back. It had been Ronan who Taurin had watched, not the cruel thrashing of Sanders. Taurin couldn’t help the centurion, but as a Tamorian Blessed he had a responsibility for all with the Blessing.

Ronan would never understand that; he’d probably even be insulted by Taurin’s thoughts, but Taurin would have broken ranks to grab Ronan. He hadn’t understood Aquilla flanking Ronan. Aquilla was a good officer, a good soldier, but his attention should have been on Lucius. Taurin hardly knew Lucius, and their few meetings had been more Lucius bawling Taurin out than friendly chats, but Taurin had seen the pain in Lucius’s features, in the lines in his forehead and the set of his jaw. Aquilla was his mate; he should have been sharing that pain, strengthening Lucius. Taurin was unattached; his role was at Ronan’s shoulder. Taurin didn’t really understand Sanders, but he knew those green, appraising eyes had pegged his troublesome Tamorian subordinate accurately. Sanders saw the fierceness that Taurin could never hide no matter the incentive. At the academy they ’ d tried to brutalize it out of him. Here they were more sophisticated, but they wanted the same results. They wanted an Alliance officer, not a Tamorian warrior, not the men of legends with their crossbows and shiny swords, not the men who had died by the thousands for a world already gone.

“Do you ever actually talk or only toss off snarled demands?” Ronan asked in irritation.

“ When I must. We spend long days alone with our flocks. We ’ re bred for silence. ”

“ I think you ’ re bred for brooding. The centurions were ecstatic about you this morning, and you ’ re grunting at me. If you haven ’ t notice we ’ re short of officers. You can lead; I would have followed you without question. I knew you could get up there and take us with you. ”

“I’ve seen you climb that cliff before. That’s how I knew it was doable.” He also knew Ronan would follow him for reasons they were both fighting and neither were going to mention.

“ Not in the dark with a full pack. ”

“Did you doubt?” Taurin asked, his eyes searching Ronan’s face. The boy had bounced up the cliff. Taurin hadn’t seen anything; he’d have to look closer. How much had been the Blessing? He knew he’d used it, not last night or at least not intentionally, but he’d used it to get off that snowy mountain. He’d called to the gods, and they had answered. He couldn’t deny it. The call of the Blessing would not be silent forever; duty could not be escaped.

“ Not after I saw your eyes. I saw you look at the three of us and then at the cliff. I realized you were calculating the climb for all of us, not just you. You were setting the ropes with us in mind. ”

“That’s my duty. I was leading.” Those were Alliance words. The Blessed masters led; the prince led. The prince of Tamor would lead the nation from the darkness; all that were true would follow him. It was an ancient prophecy. Taurin didn’t want to think of it as literal. The implications were beyond the believable.

“ Yeah, and you get it. You have leader stamped all over you. No one has to train you, and I bet some hated you for it. ”

“More than some,” Taurin said and fingered the blue beret in his lap.

“ Bad? ”

“ I don ’ t want to talk about it. ”

“Ah, that bad,” Ronan said with an unreadable expression on his face. “It’s better to forget. The past is useless shit.”

“Only we can’t leave it behind . I’m of Tamor, and you are of Shirak. Our pasts will always be with us. The gods won’t let us escape. Ronan, don’t fight it. Embrace it.” Taurin reached up and pulled the stop cord. He could see the Ferris wheel and the children waving. They were at the carnival.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infamous puppy chapter.

Chapter 12 

 Taurin couldn’t remember ever being at a carnival as a child. There had been the annual sheep sale with the panicked animals bleating and vendors selling brightly colored wools and traditional pastries. Ronan was from Shirak; his childhood filled with bombs and bullets even if he’d grown up in the tiny segment of Shirak society that gained wealth through corruption and violence. Ronan wouldn’t have been admitted to the Alliance even with Calatis patronage if he’d been from the tiny elite of Shirak. That side of Shirak was firmly allied with Kalmacia. Despite Ronan’s background, which undoubtedly made Taurin’s appear luxurious, he was an experienced carnival goer. He’d dragged Taurin onto a collection of rides overpopulated by screaming teenagers and now was heading for the jumble of vendors’ booths.

They weaved among the booths. Ronan stopped to look at everything that was brightly colored and impractical. He also visited trucks selling a wide variety of food products that were all fried and most came on a stick. Rather than listening to Ronan’s good humored wheedling, Taurin had indulged in a few of these strange concoctions. The Unbreakables’ mess was plentiful if dull and always hurried, but Taurin, like every soldier worked impossibly hard, was always hungry and still knobby with bones. Kadmos harassed Taurin to eat more with comments about Taurin still looking like a walking skeleton. He’d gained weight. He was at his heaviest ever, but Taurin knew he still looked lanky rather than the intimidating hardness prized in the Unbreakables.

They were drifting among tables with jars of honey and hideous beaded jewelry when Taurin smelled the smoke of a traditional fire and roasting meats. At the vary back was a dilapidated booth with peeling and faded paint and an almost unreadable sign in Tamorian script, the curves and arcs of his own writing jarring after years of nothing but the block print of Unified.

“Ronan, I’m going over there.”

Ronan looked up, his eyes taking in the battered booth and the smoke rising from the open fire. “Will they have grilled meats?”

“Should.”

“Good, I’m hungry.”

Taurin decided it wasn’t worth mentioning that Ronan had eaten from one side of the carnival to the other. Taurin didn’t have to pay the boy’s food bill, and Sanders seemed willing to indulge Ronan and could afford it. Taurin inhaled the smoke of the fire and watched the juices sizzle from the strips of lamb before turning toward the woman in a traditional peasant skirt taking the orders. Her face was lined and her accent thick as she started in Unified. Her eyes flickered upward to the hazel of home. 

“Nana,” Taurin said, using the title of respect for a woman who wasn’t family, but was older.

“Here? Unbreakable?”

Taurin nodded and smiled. “I’m a long way from home, but my heart is always with the mountains.”

“By all the gods,” she whispered, her eyes searching Taurin, their sudden brightness making them flicker with gold. “Acelin, you must see.”

Her husband turned from the grill. He was tall and wide shouldered as was common to Taurin’s people. Taurin removed his beret, letting his sandy hair be more visible. The man smiled, a gold tooth glinting in the foreign desert sun. He left the fire and moved closer.

“From home?” he asked his wife.

“Yes, one of ours,” she replied.

“He fights for them,” he spat.

This was an old battle. Taurin had heard the words in his own family. He’d gone with the enemy, but there was nowhere else to go. 

“He fights with them,” the woman said firmly. “He has a blue beret. We should be proud, not ashamed.”

“Unbreakable?” Acelin asked.

“Yes.” 

The man’s eyes flickered to the fire. He braced his hands on the window of his booth and stared at Taurin for a long minute. “Shinzlan?” he asked, using the ancient Tamorian word that meant the essence of Tamor, that Taurin would never be able to explain to his comrades, the word that evoked the warriors from a world now lost, a word that Taurin knew embraced his own temperament, but even he didn’t whisper as it was impossible now. 

“Yes,” Taurin said and let his eyes rest on the man in a steady gaze. He couldn’t deny it, not with Ronan standing next to him, not with the look of near worship in this man’s eyes.

The man dropped to one knee in a tradition long lost. His wife whispered something, a mumbled prayer to the gods to defend the land and the people. Taurin knew the protocol. It had been in the stories his mother had read at night as she’d put him to bed as a small boy, but he’d never seen it in real life. He didn’t openly acknowledged his status beyond the common ideas of the Alliance. 

“We are a long way from home. I have no riches and no army. I can only offer the ritualized words of loyalty and of gratitude for your offer of service. Please stand.”

“All is not lost,” Acelin said to his wife as he brushed dirt from his pants. “Our people still live.” He motioned to Taurin. “Come, sit. We’ll bring the food.”

“We must pay. We will eat a lot.”

“No.” Acelin waved his hand.

“Yes,” Taurin said and pulled a handful of bills from his pocket. “We are in a foreign land. We haven’t the riches of our mountains. You will take payment. Payment was always given, only not in the form of colored paper and rattling coins. I have no land for you to graze your sheep, no village to mediate disputes, no army to guard our riches. You will take payment as needed and required. I will not ask again.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I am nothing but a simple soldier.”

“To them.” Acelin jerked his head toward the few people wandering by the stand. “Not to us. I will take the payment, but allow us to serve you. It is our right.”  

Taurin watched the man return to the fire. He glazed the meats with the traditional oil and spices. His wife bustled from behind the counter with plates and drinks, the sweet and almost syrupy tea of Taurin’s homeland. They piled the meat and flat bread on the table and added a traditional relish of onions.

Taurin hadn’t realized how hungry he was. The spices seemed to fire the appetite sensors in his brain, and he devoured the pile of meat. Ronan had swung his leg over the picnic bench and swallowed his food with his usual gusto.

“Fabulous,” Ronan practically moaned between bites. “I’m always taking you with me if you get this kind of cooking and service. I couldn’t understand a word you said to them, but they’re looking at you like you’re a half god or something.”

Taurin nodded and finished chewing his bite. “I’m from Tamor. They believe I am the ancient guardian of my people.” 

“You believe also?” Ronan asked, looking far wiser than the boy who had dragged Taurin on the Ferris wheel twice.

“I have a responsibility to my people.” Taurin didn’t know how much he believed, not of the mystical, but he felt the call. Fantastical stories were for children, but the wisdom of the teachings couldn’t be denied.

“Do you ever just enjoy yourself?” Ronan asked with a detached flippancy as if somehow fun was supposed to surpass everything else, as if only one emotion could be present at any one time.

“Ronan, enjoy your food.” It wasn’t a real answer. Taurin knew it, but he didn’t have a real answer. 

“You’re weird.”

“Maybe.” Taurin swallowed the last of his tea.

“You’re not going to say I’m weird or broken or something?” Ronan challenged.

“It’s not my place. I’m not your master.”

“It makes Lucius and Aquilla mad that I call Eliot master.”

“They aren’t Tamorian.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? That Tamorians are as freedom hating as all the books say?”

“It means no more than I said. Now don’t be rude. They don’t deserve to hear us arguing.”

Ronan rolled his eyes. “You’re a stuffy ass sometimes.”

“Tamorians are reserved. It is our way.”

Ronan shook his head. “Well, I’m not. I don’t have to do this polite hogwash.”

“Sanders would prefer it.” Taurin got up from the table and took his trash to the striped barrel.

“He’s not here, and he doesn’t care. He said to have fun.” 

“He does care—“

“Puppies,” Ronan squealed, interrupting Taurin. He fell to his knees and waved a strip of meat at the puppies.

They toddled to him, a blur of black and white fur and tails and heads in all directions. The mother was behind them, her teats hanging low, her eye on her babies with the stare of the Tamorian sheepdog, nothing would escape her notice. With one eye still on her babies, she followed behind Taurin and rested her head on his knee as he sat down. She was older, gray winding around her muzzle. Taurin thumbed her ears. It had been years since he stroked a real sheepdog. She was a beautiful specimen, far nicer than anything his family owned.

“I want one,” Ronan said, cuddling a puppy to his face.

“The centurion said no pets.”

“It’s not a pony.”

“It’s a sheepdog. We don’t have sheep.”

Ronan kissed the puppy’s head and fingered the black spot on her side. “You have sheep.”

“My family,” Taurin corrected.

“You should get one.”

“They’re very good quality. We could never afford one.”

Acelin drifted over and smiled down at Ronan and the puppies. The puppies were crawling on Ronan; two had taken his beret and were playing tug of war with it. A lone almost solid black puppy had found Taurin’s boot and was starting to gnaw at the laces.

“They like you.”

“They’re beautiful. She’s good breeding, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Acelin said proudly and recited her pedigree.

Taurin knew something of the pedigrees. Taurin’s brother Aneurin loved the native dogs, and he’d often regaled Taurin with tales of the Tamorian sheepdog. He would have been down with the puppies, admiring each one and longing to take one home.

“Would you like one?” Acelin asked.

“I’m a soldier; we have no sheep.” It was a deflection and Taurin knew it. Aneurin would have begged him for a puppy. A litter from a bitch with this breeding would feed his family for months. They would be the envy of the entire village.

“Your family. Do they raise dogs?”

“We have a few, nothing this good.”

“You must have one. Pick.”

“I can’t,” Taurin said, horrified. “I only have a few denarii.”

“No, gift,” the old man said firmly.

“They’re too valuable.”

“Better to go back to Tamor than to become a pet of a lesser noble.”

Ronan looked up; he was still cradling the black and white puppy. “What’s he saying?”

“He wants to give me a puppy,” Taurin translated. “It’s too much. Each puppy is worth a half dozen ewes.”

“How much is a half dozen ewes worth?”

“Five hundred denarii.”

Ronan reached into his pocket and thumbed through his money until he came to the bright purple note of the five hundred denarius denomination. He placed it on the table. 

“I love this one, but it is your choice. It’s your dog.”

“Ronan, you can’t. That’s not your money. You can’t spend it that way.”

“I can, and I will have to spend more. The puppy will have to be shipped to Tamor. That will cost money.”

“Ronan, you are the centurion’s. You call him master. This is not your right.”

“I’ll work it out with him later. Take the puppy. Taurin. I can beat your ass at hand-to-hand. Unless you want me as a daily sparring partner, take the damn puppy. It will make you happy, and it will make them ecstatic. They want you to have it. They want the pick of the litter to go to someone worthy.”

Taurin fingered the fine puppy fur. He couldn’t do this. The money wasn’t Ronan’s to give. It was his master’s. Ronan couldn’t spend it or give it away without his master’s permission, but it was in his pocket. Maybe he had that permission. He’d never need that sort of money to go to the fair. Taurin was prevaricating, but he couldn’t take his hand off the puppy. He set the puppy on the table and studied her conformation. “Beautiful.”

“You’re taking her. Please.” The old man smiled.

“You take the money.”

“As you wish, my lord, but I don’t need the money, not from you.”

“Consider it a gift.”

“As you wish. Let me get her pedigree.”

His wife was already running from the booth, clutching a worn manila folder. “Everything for you. All about her.” The woman stroked the one black ear. “She will do well for you. I know it.”

“Thank you,” Taurin said with as much dignity as he could. He lifted the puppy and held her to his face. “You’re going home, little girl. You’ll like it. You’ll like my brother. He’ll dote over his little princess.” Taurin turned back to the couple. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing. Take her and us into your heart. That’s all that we ask.”

“Always of Tamor.” Taurin said and turned in the directions of his mountains, snow-capped crowns that he could see in his mind no matter the distance. “May the spirits of the peaks bless us all.” He held the puppy up. “May they make her strong and fierce and fertile and worthy of all that is Tamor. Come, Ronan. It’s time to go.” With a slight bow to the couple, Taurin turned and bowed deeply in the direction of his mountains. He walked off with the puppy against his chest.

“A puppy! A puppy!” Ronan sang.

“I shouldn’t have. I knew better.”

“It’s not a pony. He’ll be happy, and she’s not staying. I’ll make it good with him,” Ronan added as he caught Taurin’s frown. “She’s like you, from the mountains. She deserves to go home.”

 

**#**

Ronan cuddled the small pup to his chest, rubbing his face on her soft fur. The darkness had chased almost everyone inside. The quadratum was deserted; the tall shadows of the training beams and bars made the place resemble a nightmarish wasteland. Ronan liked roaming around base when everyone else was in their barracks. 

”Master?” Ronan called out, as soon as he opened the door to Eliot’s quarters. 

There was no answer. 

The unexpected free day meant a day passed in leisure. After dark, many would be in the centuria’s recreation room. It was used for debriefing, and in downtime it was where the men went if they wanted to be out of their barracks. Eliot would be there with his men. Just like Ronan, Master didn’t find interaction with people an easy or pleasurable task. Eliot preferred privacy to loud and boisterous gatherings, but as their leader Eliot had to share in their pleasures, not only their hardships. 

Master’s preferred leisure activities were political debates or discussions of literature and art—topics that made Ronan consider running in the opposite direction—or sharing a glass of brandy over a game of chess. Ronan suspected Eliot had shifted Casius, his fourth, to personal clerk duties because the kid was decent at playing chess. Casius was horrible at paperwork. Clerkship didn’t suit him, but Eliot enjoyed spending time with him and was determined to teach him to file correctly. 

For now Ronan was doing most of the filing, but luckily Taurin seemed to have captured the boy’s eye and Casius was dumping his work on Taurin. Ronan wanted to roll his eyes as he watched Casius try and fail at flirting with Taurin. For someone who was supposed to be highly educated, the kid was thick when it came to art of seduction. Of course Taurin intimidated any trace of seduction out of just about everyone. Ronan smirked at the idea of someone trying to flirt through Taurin’s grim scowl. He pulled the pup up and looked at her.

“Your master is probably the most batshit crazy, sullen individual that walked those damn mountains he loves so much.” Ronan placed a quick smooch to her wet nose. “You’re gonna love him.”

Ronan had dragged Taurin out to the carnival because he’d wanted to please his master. Eliot had ordered him to socialize and make friends. Master’s newest recruit and project seemed the right place to start. 

Something inside Ronan told him he should be wary of Taurin. The man had real power inside him. He was hurt and weakened, but healed, his power would rival Master’s. No one could be Master’s rival. Ronan wouldn’t allow it, but if Taurin became loyal to Eliot, he would strengthen Master. Taurin responded to Ronan, he was sure of it. The rare seconds when Ronan had caught Taurin’s eyes on him, there was warmth, as if Taurin was looking at something precious. He hadn’t seen the Shirak trash or the good slave, as most men did. Ronan was sure he could use that connection between them to make Taurin lower his guard enough to see Master’s worth. After that Taurin would be loyal to Eliot. There was honor in Taurin. Honor and loyalty and the man breathed duty. Once he became Eliot’s he’d never abandon Master. 

He put the thoughts about Taurin aside, as he pushed open the door to the rec hall. The lights were on only half power, and the room was dim. The buzz of animated conversation hung over the room, interrupted by an occasional loud laugh or whistle. There was the ever present beer; some had brandy in their glasses. The stronger stuff came from Eliot’s personal stash. Hard liquor wasn’t sold on base.

A noisy game of dice was going on in one corner of the room. Ronan spotted Eliot in a different group. Cards were scattered on the table, but whatever game they’d been playing had been abandoned. Eliot didn’t enjoy playing cards, but he played occasionally with his men. Ronan knew he used to be spectacularly bad at it, and only Aquilla’s efforts kept Eliot from being the base’s perennial loser. 

“I don’t know, man,” Petrus said, studying his cards. “I like it this way. Think about it,” the man went on with whatever conversation they were having. 

Ronan slid down, crouching against the wall, staying in the darkness. Master hadn’t seen him yet. He loved watching Master when he was unaware of Ronan. The puppy whined slightly in its sleep, and Ronan patted it to calm it down, his attention back on the conversation.

“Even for the regulars having a family is a struggle. How would we deal with it?” Petrus continued. “Not to mention, I’d rather not have my mind occupied with kids and a wife I’ve left at home when I’m facing the enemy.”

“True, but having a family has its perks,” Silenius said, fingering the cards sprawled across the table. 

“What family? You think you’re gonna have a wife waiting for you, when you only get a week’s leave every six months?” Flavian snorted. “And the kids—Are you that naïve, my brother. Kids don’t happen when you’re thousands of miles away.”

“Oh, shut, up.” Silenius pushed against Flavian’s shoulder. “Not everyone is such a slut as you.”

“What has that to do with anything? You don’t think there’s a woman in this damn country who would settle for a week of mediocre sex every six months do you?”

“Mediocre?” Silenius asked, scandalized, making Eliot smile and shake his head. 

“Well no duh, great sex doesn’t happen with no practice, kid.” Flavian grinned. “If you ever want to practice, I’m game.”

“You’re always game,” the group chorused. 

“Yeah, I think he’s convinced the cubs that it’s mandatory to get into his bed if they want to stick around.” Efrem snorted. “I see a new one tailing him to the bushes every other day.”

Master’s expression darkened. Ronan wondered if anyone else noticed the tightening of Eliot’s lips and the rigidity in his facial muscles.

“If anything of that sort ever happens, I’ll personally hang you by your balls. You do know that, right?” Master asked in a low, dangerous tone. 

Flavian sobered up in a heartbeat. A tense silence fell over the table. “Sir, of course, I wouldn’t.” 

“Good.” Eliot’s voice regained the easy humor and the men visibly relaxed.

“So, what about you, Centurion?” Lykos, who had been silent, asked, probably trying to restart a light hearted conversation. “Having to give up family life, good or bad?”

“If you’d seen the marvel I was engaged to marry, you’d understand my choice to join the Unbreakables.” Eliot said bringing the glass to his lips, trying to sound casual. The men laughed, the tension evaporated with each laugh and playful tease.

“That bad huh?” Flavian asked, grinning at Eliot.

“Oh, your imagination fails to even half picture it, I can assure you, brother.” 

“So, why the engagement, then?” Efrem said, his eyes locked on the centurion.

“The First Families don’t believe in marriage out of love. I was the Calatis heir, and she was granddaughter to Lord Appia.”

“The heirs of two great families united in love, so touching.” Flavian put his hand over his heart, pretending to be overwhelmed with emotion.

“No, she wasn’t an heir. Two First Families will never marry their heirs. It would mean merging the families and no one wants to lose their separate standing.”

Ronan’s eyes were glued to Eliot. He brought the glass to his lips once more and Ronan realized he wanted the conversation over, but didn’t want to alienate his men who were finally starting to befriend him.  

“Master,” Ronan said and stood up from his place and came forward so Eliot could see him.

“Back already, boy?” Eliot asked, coming to his feet with a bright smile on his face.

The smile disappeared as the pup woke up and yipped happily. 

Master’s jaw clenched, and his eyes turned black with anger. 

 “It’s not mine,” Ronan said instantly, taking an instinctive step back, his knees going soft. He wanted to hit the ground before his master and press his head to his boots.

“Oh, someone’s in trouble,” one of the men called out. Ronan couldn’t place who, as his mind was storming with master’s displeasure. “You better start groveling, kid.”

“Excuse us, gentlemen.” Master grabbed Ronan’s wrist and dragged him outside.

“It’s just a puppy, not the enemy coming for a party,” Ronan shouted, his emotions cascading around him. He wanted to apologize and escape from the cold anger of his master, but his master wanted him strong. 

“You don’t defy me like this,” Master said, his voice buffeting Ronan’s emotions.

“Never, Master.” Ronan glanced up at Master. “The puppy is for Taurin. I wouldn’t defy you.” 

For a long minute, Master studied Ronan, his grip not loosening on his wrist. “Get the puppy settled. We’ll talk about this later.” Master dropped Ronan’s wrist and walked off without another word. 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan and Taurin fight.

Chapter 13

 

“Ronan, are you all right? The centurion was upset about the puppy? I’m the one who is guilty.” Taurin had been paired with Ronan for sparring, and his eyes swept over a flat and quiet Ronan. In training, Ronan was usually swaggering and boasting. The base rumor mill had been as efficient as ever. Taurin knew Ronan had argued with the centurion. 

“Don’t you start on that guilt trip thing,” Ronan said with a grin. 

“Ronan, I heard,” Taurin started. Ronan was a shinzella; he’d displeased his shinzlan. The wound should be deep. Taurin was responsible for the wound.

 “I shouldn’t have let you.” 

“Stop.” Ronan glared and jerked his head up and back, emphasizing that he was taller and broader than Taurin. “I’m not fragile. Get over yourself. We’ll both be in shit if we don’t start sparring instead of chatting. Titus has his eyes on me, and Kadmos doesn’t let you out of his sight very often.” Ronan launched himself at Taurin.

Ronan was the best fighter in the centuria. It was usually an unequal fight with Taurin on the ground in short order. Taurin watched the blur of Ronan’s motion. He let Ronan’s own power and weight work against him. Taurin feinted and sprang as Ronan shifted for the counter attack. Ronan snarled as they went down in a heap. Suddenly they weren’t sparring, but actually fighting. Taurin held the sword, and Ronan contained the fire. The ancient laws required order and submission to the master and the gods. Taurin hung desperately to Ronan’s back as Ronan tried to throw him. Ronan braced to bring Taurin over his head and shift the fight.

“No, you don’t.” 

Taurin jerked Ronan’s head back in an impossible angle and pressed his forearm to Ronan’s throat. Ronan struggled to his feet, lifting Taurin as he gasped for air. He raised his foot to smash Taurin’s instep, and they both went back to the ground as Taurin hurled them forward. Taurin had the advantage. It would probably never happen again, but he pressed his victory home.

“Are you giving up, or am I choking you unconscious?”

“Fuck you!”

Taurin ground his weight into Ronan’s back. He could hear the wheezing gasps as the air was forced out of Ronan’s lungs and Taurin’s arm restricted fresh breath.

“Up. Now!” someone roared in Taurin’s ear. “What the fuck?” Titus was shaking Taurin by the collar and screaming. “This is fucking training. You’re not supposed to commit homicide.”

“I’m OK,” Ronan choked, his voice still high and wheezy. “It wasn’t his fault. I wouldn’t yield. He surprised me.”

“Idiots,” Titus shouted. “I’m not explaining to the centurion that his mildly insane recruit decided to develop murderous hand-to-hand skills and choke his boy to death because his boy was too stubborn to yield. Both of you run until I can think of something better to do with you. Go.” Titus gave Taurin a push.

Taurin ran at half pace. Ronan was still choking and stopped to vomit a thin yellow fluid as they went out of sight behind the barracks. “Ronan—“

“Shut up. Let me choke in peace.”

 “I’m—“

“I asked for it.” Ronan said, standing and wiping his mouth on his shirt. “I didn’t think you had it in you. You gave me a chance to yield. Next time I’ll listen, and next time I won’t assume I can beat you. We better run, or we’ll both get a strapping.”

“I just about strangled you.”

“I’m an Unbreakable. I probably deserved your little beating.” Ronan gave Taurin a half grin. “It’s not like it bothers me. It’s only a few bruises.”

“It was my fault.”

“Idiot.” Ronan added a few colorful curses as he started running again. “I damn near asked you to beat me. I’m a big boy. I can take the consequences of my games.”

Taurin gave Ronan a long look. He knew his eyes showed the confusion in his brain. Ronan was lying. Taurin didn’t understand why, but he knew the shields around Ronan were closed and bristling with armaments. Maybe he was truthful with the centurion. Taurin didn’t know. All he could see now was a chameleon, covering all that was true. “I hurt you.”

“And I wanted hurt. So we’re even. It was a challenge. I like making you fight for it.”

“You don’t,” Taurin said honestly. “You want to serve. We both do.”

Ronan laughed. “What fun is that?”

“Need is not always fun.”

“You’re back to your crazy shit again with invisible spirits and lunatic rules and duties.”

“I cannot escape my duty.” 

Ronan shrugged. “I’ll have to teach you. It might be a very lengthy project. You’re much too serious.”

“An impossible project,” Taurin said with absolute seriousness. “I am of Tamor. It is not our way.”

“Do you say everything that you don’t like is not of Tamor?” Ronan asked, starting to run backwards so he could watch Taurin.

“I don’t give up my traditions. I’ve learned better,” he added very softly. It was his duty to maintain his control no matter the aggravation, and Ronan was irritating. More oddly, the boy was trying to be irritating. Taurin didn’t understand Ronan; he didn’t understand most of the people here. 

“It’s the modern world, dear,” Ronan teased. “We moved beyond swords and pitchforks and words scraped on rock.”

“Those words are our wealth. You share it.”

Ronan laughed. “You’re back with your crazy shit again. None of that crap is true.”

“To each his own.” Taurin tried to turn away, to focus his eyes on the distant mountains that rose as red hulks from the mesa floor. He wasn’t going to be baited by Ronan; the boy was being intentionally obtuse. 

“Grouch.” Ronan flicked his hand over Taurin’s face and grabbed the edge of Taurin’s shirt. “The famed Tamorian scowl. Can you bottle it and sell it to the officers? Be good or I’ll wear Tamorian scowl.

“Let go of my shirt.” Taurin came to a halt and glared into the blue eyes. “I’m not fighting you again. I’m not beating you over your falsehoods. I’m done. I won’t be played by you.” Taurin sat down, causing Ronan to drop to a crouch as he fought to keep hold of Taurin’s shirt.

“We’ll get beat for not running.”

“Fine,” Taurin said and looked back off toward the mountains. He fought to keep his voice steady. Every ounce of his soul screamed that he should assert his will. This was a Blessed disrespecting all that was important. Honor, loyalty, courage, obedience, sacrifice, duty—that was Tamor; that was the bond.

“Run,” Titus bellowed. He strode across the training ground, his boots a molted mix of shiny and dusty, anger written across his face. 

Taurin continued to stare off into the distance. A bird wheeled in the sky too far away for Taurin to identify. Closer he could hear the grunt of men and the creak of the pull-up bars as men struggled to perform an impossible amount. Galan, the decanus of the cubs, was yelling at some hapless recruit who hadn’t learned his bark was far worse than his bite. 

“Up. Run,” Titus shouted, leaning over Taurin, his face inches from Taurin’s, his spit flecking Taurin’s face. 

“Why?” Taurin asked, wrapping his arms around his knees and pushing away from Ronan who had scrambled to his feet.

“I am not playing twenty questions with you. You do as your told, soldier.”

“No.”

“Taurin,” Ronan hissed and reached to pull Taurin from the ground. “That’s insubordination. They’ll hurt you for that. I thought you liked it here. I thought we were getting on.”

Taurin looked at Ronan who was openly pleading, his eyes wide and lit with a desperation where Taurin had seen nothing before. Ronan went to his knees, his head bowed at Taurin’s feet. 

“Please, sir. Please, I beg your forgiveness.”

“Ronan, do you know why you are begging, or is it just something you do, something you put on like a new outfit every day?”

“Sir,” Ronan said, not lifting his head. “I don’t understand you, but I didn’t mean to offend you. Please.”

Taurin grabbed Ronan’s chin and lifted his head. For a long moment he studied Ronan’s face, the eyes that tried to hide all real emotion and real connection. “You meant to offend; only you didn’t mean it in the way I took it. I don’t understand you. I don’t understand this, but I see that my initial understanding was wrong. Tamor and the peaks that touch the sky are too far from both of us. We both suffer. Get up.” Taurin stood and pulled Ronan to his feet. “We will run, sir,” Taurin said, addressing Titus. “You may beat me if you choose. I was insubordinate.”

Titus raked his hand over his short hair before placing it on his hip and looking up and down Taurin. “I’m going to pretend you hit your head when you and Ronan were having your wee wrestling match, and I’m going to pretend my hearing is very bad. You will run until you’re crawling because my vision is as bad as my hearing is today and I won’t be able to see your suffering.” Titus shoved his hands into his pockets. “If this ever happens again, it will be the first centurion and the weighted whip. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ronan?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It would break the centurion’s heart if that happened to you, so again are we clear, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then get started. You have many laps to run.”

#

 Taurin longed for his running shoes and not his boots. He didn’t know how much sand had dropped into his boots. He only knew that each step was agony. He knew his feet had started to bleed. He knew that long ago his easy running stride had change to a broken hobble. Ronan next to him looked equally desperate. He’d shed his shirt and was running with his chest glistening with sweat and sand from his now frequent stumbles. The sun had already passed its zenith and was settling behind the mountain in a display of brilliant reds and oranges. Taurin forced his legs to move, each step a new agony.

Titus looked fresh. His hair was wet from a shower; his pants were crisp. He stopped in front of Taurin. “You’re not crawling yet?”

“I’m from high altitude, and Ronan is insane, sir.” Taurin said, fighting desperately not to fall over.

“I think you’re stubborn.”

“That too, sir.”

Titus smiled, a thin smile that Taurin decided was more scary than friendly. “Lucky for you, we like stubborn. Unbreakables are stubborn. We pride ourselves in men that are too stubborn to be beaten down. You’re one of those. A crazy ass who will do the impossible because you’re too stubborn to do the ordinary. You’re dismissed. Clean up, eat, and stay out of my sight for the night before I decide I’m being too generous. And Ronan, you can tell the centurion why I was torturing the two of you. He was most curious. Goodnight, gentlemen.” Titus turned and walked off.

“Shit!” Ronan swayed and his knees buckled.

“Don’t you lie down on me now. I can’t carry you.”

“We could just sleep here. Maybe someone will take pity on us and carry us.”

“After that performance?” Taurin muttered, trying to keep his own balance and reach for Ronan. He was too tired, too vulnerable. What would happen to him tonight? He was in tatters and any idiot could see it.

“We’ve got you. Lean on us.”

“Kadmos,” Taurin managed in a hoarse whisper, his mind losing the fight with his body as the strong arm went around his shoulder.

“Idiot boy. I told you we always count our men and know who’s out there. We never leave anyone even when they might deserve it. Come on, boy. You’ll feel a lot better with a shower and food in your stomach. Fool.”

Kadmos tousled Taurin’s hair and he was too tired to duck or resist. Taurin couldn’t do anything. He was at these men’s mercy and may they actually be merciful.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius talks to Taurin.

Chapter 14

Morning was too early; only it wasn’t really morning. They always rose before the desert sun lit the quadratum, but today the shouts and curses were in the stillness of night. Taurin rolled from his bunk and suppressed a groan with brutal efficiency. He hurt, and he was going to do nothing but hurt again today. He dressed, finding his fatigues and shouldering into his shirt as he shivered with the cold of the night. He dumped sand from his boots onto the floor and laced his battered feet into the dusty leather. He’d never pass inspection this morning and rightfully so. Kicking the sand under his bunk in a half-assed attempt at cleaning, he ran for the door, strapping on his watch as he broke into the darkness. 

04:00. Sane people were asleep, not standing on a freezing training ground as snowflakes drifted into their hair. 

“Three minutes,” Kadmos shouted. “Too slow. What if there had been a bomb or an attack? No hats, no gloves. You all cold?”

“Yes, sir,” the men chorused.

Kadmos was dressed for winter, his hat pulled down over his large ears, his fingers inside black gloves. The high desert weather was crazy. A man could freeze at night and get sunburn the next day. “Well, I have the fix for lazy and cold men. On the ground now.”

Push-ups, sit-ups, horrible squat thrusts. True Taurin wasn’t cold anymore. He was in too much pain to consider cold a problem. They hadn’t run, which was perhaps a blessing or just an oversight on Kadmos’s part, but they had been at physical training for over an hour. 

“Move your lazy asses,” Kadmos shouted, pacing between the grunting men.

The snow was heavier now. Taurin brushed it off his belly as he switched from sit-ups to another round of push-ups. Taurin had regained his strength from the ordeal in the mountains, but he was never going to be the camp champion at this. Running was natural for him, a product of high altitude and great distances. This was work. His shoulders screamed; his arms longed to collapse.

“Soldier, get up.”

Taurin scrambled to his feet, his exhausted mind not putting the voice with a face. Taurin’s eyes swept over the uniform with the gold eagle. He was facing his first centurion, the legendary Lucius, victor at Kanzar and the only man to pull off a successful mission in the Kalmacian capital.

“Follow me and take this.” The first centurion shoved a mug of coffee in Taurin’s hands. “It’s the same muddy water as always, but it’s hot. Move, soldier.”

Taurin followed the hard march. Lucius strode to his office, a man in complete control, a man comfortable in his kingdom. 

“Knock the snow off.” Lucius pushed his door open and headed for the coffee pot on his desk. 

His office was bare and neat. There were no papers or files on his desk, only an empty, smooth surface of the table that served as his desk. Battered metal filing cabinets took one wall. On the opposite was a window out to the training ground and a framed picture of a family on a porch surrounded by planters of bright red geraniums. The remaining wall space was covered with maps, faded and checkered with illegible scrawl. 

“Sit down before you fall down,” Lucius barked, his eyes flickering to Taurin who hovered by the door. “My parents and siblings.” Lucius flicked his hand at the photo. “We’re pretty ordinary. My father was a steel worker, my mother a teacher. More coffee?” Lucius didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed Taurin’s mug, dumped the brown water into a bucket under the table and poured a fresh cup. “Don’t like it?”

“Not much, sir,” Taurin hazarded.

“At least you’re not like Eliot complaining that we don’t have dark roast from some exotic place and fresh beans. Be thankful it’s not instant. Drink up. Coffee is your friend when you’ve had no sleep, and I know how little sleep you had and how tired you must be. You’re a tough boy from your world of mountains and warriors and way more sheep than I ever want to see again, but we’ve been torturing you for almost twenty-four hours.”

“Sir, Kadmos did allow me to sleep.”

“Not enough,” Lucius grunted, “but he’s too much of a softie for full torture. He likes you, boy; even though, you’ve really worked at making yourself as unlikable as possible. You’re a sniper. You run like a gazelle and climb like a mountain goat. You’re plenty smart and can actually fill out paperwork on the first try. You should be everybody’s hero, instead you court disaster. Want to talk to me about it?” Lucius leaned on his desk and cast his dark eyes over Taurin. 

“Sir.”

“You don’t talk either. I see my reports are correct on that matter. I was hoping a little exhaustion would loosen your tongue, but I should’ve known better. Tamorian warrior stock. The only thing more frightening is a Tamorian mother protecting her brood. You’re intimidating enough. I’m very glad to have the lovely gold eagle on my shoulder when I talk to you, boy. Eliot worries about intimidating people with his noble name. He won’t have to worry about that with you. Tamorian warriors are far crazier.”

“What do you know of Tamor?”

“Not enough to do even a halfway decent job of being your first centurion unless you decide to help. I’ve been stationed in Tamor. You share a border with Kirpak and with Shirak. You have a beautiful, rugged and very poor country with too many sheep, as I mentioned before. I hate mutton. Speaking of sheep, the puppy’s transport has been arranged—first class all the way. My sister, the babe in arms in the picture, is a linguist and an adventurer. She’s taking the puppy, her camera, and her backpack. I figure I’ll hear from her in a few months when she gets bored. Call someone, who happens to have a phone, to let your family know to expect it. I pulled your paperwork. I doubt you have a phone.”

“No, sir. We’re better off than many, but no phone.”

“If your family is half as stubborn as you, I’m sure they survive, but you want more than that, don’t you, boy? You want what someone of your will and brains and strength deserves. You want to lead and do all that your blood demands. You want those stripes back on your shoulders. You want men who want to obey you, who believe in you, and who will follow you through whatever tour of torture you devise. You want to protect them and serve them and bleed for them as they bow their heads to you and offer to die for you. You want to care about those men; it’s wired into your soul. You want a centurion’s bird on your shoulder, the falcon, the hawk, the osprey that hasn’t been used for many years, or even the gold eagle that sits on mine.”

“I’m Tamorian,” Taurin said automatically.

“Out there among those bigots and assholes it matters. Here less. Here you are an Unbreakable. We all wear the same blue beret; we all bleed the same color. I’m not going to tell you all is possible here. You’re too old and wise for fairy tales. I don’t think you can be first centurion. The generals have to sign off on that, and in my lifetime they won’t be able to look beyond your hazel eyes and sandy hair. Eliot will be first centurion. He is a fine soldier and a fine man despite his noble lineage, not because of it. However born of the right blood, he is easy among people with power. He knows when to smile; he knows how to make people comfortable. You will never do that. First centurion is part politician as well as part warrior. You are all warrior. You will always make people uneasy. That will be your asset as centurion. The men will fear your displeasure as they long for your praise. They’ll follow you, boy. Half would follow you now, even with you doing everything to prevent it.”

Lucius stood and walked to Taurin’s chair. He looked down at Taurin, his eyes appraising and somehow way too knowing. “I want to stroke my fingers through your hair and tell you that you’re a good and promising boy, but I think you’d hit me and then we’d be back out there with you running around the training ground or worse me stuck having to whip you. You don’t need whipped. Sugar is going to get us far closer to where we need you than curses and blood.”

“I prefer not to be touched, sir,” Taurin said.

“You don’t need to tell me. It’s all over your body language. You need a shield mate to warm your bed.”

“Sir, please.”

“Kadmos harassing you about his four lonesome ones?”

“Yes, sir.”

Lucius eyes softened and a smile played on his lips for a second. “He’s very kind, but you’re complicated for him. He likes you, but he’s no naive youngster. He’s never trained a future centurion, but he senses your future and even now as your decanus he’s drawn to obey you, not command you. It’s hard for those who you will command. Your shoulder is bare, but your camouflage is far from complete. Look at me, Taurin. Really look at me, not through me or over me.”

“First Centurion.” Taurin rested his eyes on Lucius’s face. He stared at the face that seemed without guile or hidden malice. This was a son of a steelworker, a working class man. He was of the First Province, but he spoke without hatred.

“What do you see?”

“My first centurion.”

“What else?”

“Honesty. Loyalty.” 

Those were safe words, but Taurin couldn’t see the sneer that was always on the officers’ faces. He couldn’t see the delight at humiliating him that had always flickered in their eyes.

“Good enough for today. Maybe you will someday see friendship, see a man who is not much different from you. Someday maybe you will see family, but for today honesty and loyalty are a big step. Today I need you to take the first step and respond to those words, the first step that will allow us to put a bird of prey on your shoulder.”

“That will never happen.” Taurin knew he shouldn’t have spoken. He saw the anger spark in those brown eyes. 

“It will only not happen if you choose to be foolish and irresponsible. You control your destiny, boy. You can have it, or you can throw it away as unattainable. I would never have pegged you for someone who gives up.”

“I don’t give up.”

“Better.” Lucius moved back to his desk and sat on a corner. “You still don’t believe me, but I guess I can’t have everything today. I can be patient when I must.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Can we start by not seeing your name on the punishment roster every week? It’s making me schizophrenic to get a note of commendation about you from one officer and a disciplinary report from another. Plus I know Eliot’s buried at least half the bad ones. Next time I get one of these”—Lucius walked to the filing cabinet and pulled out a handful of disciplinary reports, all with Taurin’s name on them—“I’m going to whip you in the middle of the training ground. You will be the lesson in obedience, and you will not like it. If your centurion can bleed under my whip, so can his impossible, prized recruit.” Lucius walked back to Taurin, and this time he did run his hand through Taurin’s hair and down his cheek. “You don’t need whipped. Some young arrogant recruits do, but you’ve been tortured plenty. You need that coddling and praise that you’re too stubborn to allow, so you might get a whipping you really don’t need. Make your choice, boy, because I’m done with these.” Lucius pushed the discipline reports to the floor. “I’m done with seeing whatever was going on yesterday. It takes a lot to bring Titus to a boil, and you and Ronan did it very successfully. I don’t doubt that Ronan doesn’t share the blame for it. I know he can be trying. You’re not stupid and you’re not blind. Eliot’s boy likes you. He’s your centurion’s boy. Use that to your advantage. He’s a damn good soldier, but he’s still wounded on the home front. He’ll follow you and be loyal to you. Give him something for that loyalty.”

“He’s not mine, and he has more seniority than I do.”

“And he’ll never command a group of wheelbarrows. He’s not that sort of man.”

“He hardly obeys me.”

“That is where you are inexperienced. He’s baiting you, but he responds to you. He’ll listen to you. He is drawn to you. He’s spoiled perhaps, but he can be a good soldier, and I don’t doubt he will learn to do your bidding.” Lucius tapped Taurin on the cheek. “Remember you’re an officer in training. You have responsibilities toward your comrades.”

“He only listens to the centurion. I’ve seen it.” Taurin stopped himself. He couldn’t explain more to Lucius, not without discussing the Blessed. The first centurion had already hinted that he perhaps knew, but the Blessed were not talked about with outsiders.

“You’re different.” Lucius’s dark eyes focused on Taurin, appraising him, studying him, seeing more than Taurin wanted to show. “Aquilla and I will not be here forever. Eliot likes you. He’ll need a friend who can guide him. They both will. I know you see them for what they are.” Lucius sighed and reached for his coffee cup, but didn’t take a drink. “Now get out of my office. You’re on light duty today. Eliot has some paperwork for you.”

“And another chat,” Taurin mumbled under his breath, trying to sort out Lucius’s words and appear unaffected by them.

“Death by chatting,” Lucius said with a genuine smile. “I know, boy. Isolation is easier than engagement, but you don’t have that choice. I won’t give it to you. Now go.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius reflects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once dear readers you have a reliable narrator. Taurin, Eliot, and Ronan's renditions of events are not always to be trusted.

Chapter 15

Lucius watched Taurin walk across the training ground. Even after the grueling physical exercise the man had endured for the last twenty-four hours, he still walked with a loose limbed efficiency and held his head high. He was a tough one. Lucius wasn’t naive; he knew that men at the Academy had tried to break Taurin. Lucius was working class. It had been hard enough for him; his saving grace had been he was good at all the sports that made people cheer and supposedly built morale. If he hadn’t been a varsity athlete, his life could have taken the same path as Taurin’s. 

“Brooding?”

“Aquilla, don’t sneak up on me.”

“I didn’t sneak. You were staring out the window like a love struck teenager.”

“It’s been a long time since I was love struck, and it wouldn’t have been Taurin.”

“True.” Aquilla gave Lucius an enigmatic half smile. “You’re only love struck with me. Exotic strangers more suit Eliot.”

Lucius snorted. “Eliot is a dreamer.” Lucius shook his head. “I sometimes wonder…” He let his voice drift off, not finishing his thought.

“Eliot likes them broken. Power goes to his head.”

“You can’t be first centurion and not like power. Taurin will keep him in check.”

“If Eliot doesn’t turn him into his own personal vassal also. The snow boy is not exactly a picture of mental health. Eliot will have him by the throat.”

“I thought you liked Eliot. You agreed with me on appointing him centurion and passing on my mantle to him.”

Aquilla leaned over Lucius’s desk, grabbed his coffee mug, and took a swallow. 

“Get your own.” Lucius snatched his mug back.

“Tastes like floor sweepings.”

“It’s hot.” He poured a second cup and pushed it toward Aquilla. “Here. Drink. Now tell me what you’re thinking.”

“That after twenty years, I wouldn’t know good coffee if I swam in a vat of the stuff.” Aquilla took the cup and took a swallow of the brown liquid with an expressive grimace. “Ugh, I need sugar. You know that.”

Lucius smiled. “I wouldn’t want you to think your first centurion was here to do nothing but serve you. The sugar’s in the filing cabinet.”

“It’s sugar, not a file.” Aquilla said, opening the top drawer and keeping the filing cabinet upright with his knee. He poured a healthy measure of sugar into his coffee and took another sip. “Better.”

“You take too much sugar.”

“I have worse habits,” Aquilla said with a shrug. “I snore.”

Lucius laughed. “I thought we had a freight train in the bedroom.”

“No just me.” Aquilla brushed his hand over Lucius short black hair. They were about the same height, Aquilla a fraction taller and a fraction broader, but at a distance they were often mistaken for brothers. “It’s the crazy trio: Eliot, Ronan, and the Tamorian boy, right?”

Lucius spun around and brought the full power of his stare onto his shield mate. Aquilla was an experienced officer. He’d lived with Lucius far too long to miss the sharpened steel in Lucius dark eyes.

“Sir.” 

“Speak your mind, Centurion. You will anyway.”

Aquilla paced across the floor, his boots tattooing a stark rhythm. He stopped under the faded map of the Alliance, and stared up at it. “I like Eliot. You know I do. He’s a good soldier and a good officer, but he is…” Aquilla studied the map he knew by heart. “It’s not just that he’s a noble brat. That I can live with. It’s something else. When he’s angry…” Aquilla trailed off again.

“He has a hot temper.”

“No, it’s more than that.” Aquilla swirled his coffee cup and took a long swallow. “I don’t want him angry. I want to obey him. We were arguing over Ronan. I know what I was saying was right, but I wanted to agree with him.”

“He’s a charismatic and powerful personality.”

“It’s more than that.”

“Your imagination is running wild. He’s following your advice anyway,” Lucius said with a shrug. “I see Ronan trying to interact with the others.”

“With Taurin who’s as psychotic as he is. They about killed each other yesterday.”

“Taurin seems no worse for the wear.”

“He’s not going to show you anything. You’re not Tamorian. He shuts up like a clam around us. He’s one of them. I’m sure of it.”

Lucius sighed and leaned back in his chair. “We no longer persecute Tamorians for their religious beliefs. It’s his right to believe, and if he finds strength in it, so be it. The kid’s lived through tortures I don’t want to imagine.”

“You served in Tamor,” Aquilla shot back.

“And so have you,” Lucius said more calmly. “The old believers follow a strict order and promote a hierarchal society. It’s not much different than us. Some argue that the Unbreakables were an attempt to copy their great warriors. I can see that. The mystical stuff is just hogwash; all primitive cultures have it.”

“He got those people off the mountain.”

“He’s from the mountains. It wasn’t magic. Aquilla, what is with you?”

“Nothing. He got them up the cliffs two nights ago.”

“He didn’t grow wings and fly if that’s what you’re getting at. He inspires confidence. The men follow him.”

“Up suicidal cliffs. Over miles of snowy mountains. He’s a loner, yet when he asks they gamble around his heals like lost puppies.”

“They recognize a warrior.”

“A Blessed warrior?”

“If he’s on our side I don’t care. If their gods want to give us a hand who am I to say no,” Lucius said with a laugh. “He’s the best officer candidate I’ve seen since Eliot. I’m not going to look very hard at anything else. You’re the one who’s been saying Eliot is going to need a check. His snow warrior will be that check.”

“He’s not even been deployed yet. How do you know he won’t just trail along after Eliot, one more in his personal fiefdom? Taurin is going to owe him. You know that.”

Lucius shook his head and smiled. “Aquilla, I need a road map to follow this conversation. One minute you’re fretting over the mythical Blessed and the next you’re worried that Taurin will be too weak to contain Eliot. Blessed or not Taurin is Tamorian. They are not impressed by our nobility. He’ll be able to handle Eliot.”

“Or they’ll both handle us,” Aquilla said darkly.

Lucius laughed again. “We’ll be long gone by then, so it will hardly be our problem.”

“That’s comforting.” Aquilla snorted and gave Lucius a disgusted look.

Lucius leaned forward a clasped his hands together. “You take Taurin for a few weeks. He can train your centuria in mountaineering and sharpen their shooting, and we can get an evaluation of him away from Eliot. If you still think there is a problem I’ll come up with something.”

#

Lucius watched Aquilla drag into the small set of rooms they shared on base. As first centurion, he lived in relative luxury compared to the others. They had a small house with four rooms, one of them Lucius’s office. Aquilla kept his office in the usual quarters for the centuria of the second in the barracks. The men knew to get him at home if they needed him, but they usually went to his optio. No one wanted to bother the first centurion. 

“What on earth?” Lucius asked, holding the door open and grabbing Aquilla’s wrist. Lucius was careful with his touches in public. Everyone knew Aquilla was his shield mate, but still he didn’t want to undermine Aquilla’s authority with his men. Not everyone was comfortable that personal affection hadn’t played a role in Aquilla’s rank.

“Climbing with Taurin,” Aquilla said, turning on the tap and drinking straight from the faucet. 

“You don’t need extra climbing practice,” Lucius said and pushed Aquilla from the faucet. He filled a glass and handed it to Aquilla. “If you tell me you got dehydrated out there, I’m taking the strap to you.”

“I’ve been doing this as long as you, my dear first centurion. I know to drink, and Taurin was damn near carrying an entire aquifer. I don’t care that it’s January; hanging off a bunch of rocks in the sunshine makes you thirsty.”

“Idiot,” Lucius grumbled. “Taurin’s barely twenty.”

“Twenty-two, and don’t remind me how old I am. I’m going to feel ninety tomorrow.”

Lucius opened a kitchen drawer and tossed a bottle of pain killers on the table. “Have you lost your mind?”

Aquilla swallowed the pills and groaned as he rolled his neck. “I think my mind is toast. Six hours with Taurin, and I felt like he should be giving the orders.”

“He’s a future officer. I’m sure he was working hard to impress you.”

“It was all I could do not to say sir to him. He’s twenty-two and half crazy, and I wanted to follow him wherever he led no matter the consequences. His soldiers will fight death with nothing but a teaspoon to stay within his aura. I might try climbing a mountain naked, gripping the rock with my teeth if he asked.”

Lucius laughed, full and deep. “You’ll both deal with me, and I’ll beat your new boyfriend bloody.”

Aquilla laughed back, his eyes dancing with humor and with relief at being home and with a man whom he loved and understood.

“He’s far too intense for me. I can see the appeal. Who couldn’t? All that power directed at you, engulfing you. But I’ve lived a bit. I’m too much Aquilla to ever stand it for long. Whoever becomes Taurin’s shield mate will be owned by him. He’ll possess the boy’s soul.” Aquilla shivered, his hands searching for somewhere to go.

Lucius caught both Aquilla’s wrists, steadying the man who meant more to him than he could ever admit. Shield mates were expected in the Unbreakables, but their relationship was far more than comfort on a cold and lonely night. They were lovers in all senses of the word. “Is he safe?”

Aquilla nodded. “For the right boy. He’s… I don’t know what to call it.”

Lucius wrapped his arm around Aquilla’s shoulder and pulled him close. “Our Tamorian warrior is very powerful. Did he levitate his climbing party up the cliff?”

“I’m not that far gone.” Aquilla rolled his eyes and poked his elbow into Lucius’s ribs. “I know the Blessed thing gives me the creeps, and you don’t need to lecture me about primitive myth and culture building. Taurin has skills I’ve never seen in a man that young. He’s aware of his power, and maybe his awareness makes him more frightening. He’s using it so skillfully. I don’t know.” Aquilla blew out a sharp breath. “When I was with him, he felt safe.”

“He has plenty of hard edges,” Lucius said with a shake of his head. “Hard as granite and all the way through. He’s not bluster and phony fierceness. I see that in him, but who is Taurin? How do I guide such a boy? He was trying to kill Ronan a few days ago.”

“Ronan was challenging him. I don’t think he takes that well, especially from someone like Ronan.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow, silently asking Aquilla to explain.

“Ronan goes to his knees for Eliot. You remember Tamor. You remember the couples.”

“The kneeling one didn’t challenge. They were only a few twenty years ago. I can’t believe they still exist. Tamor has changed.”

“Maybe or maybe you need to look closer at Taurin.” Aquilla cocked his head and studied Lucius. “We’re the product of the modern world, but don’t you ever get that sensation that we’re not seeing?”

“No,” Lucius snapped, hiding his own doubts in abruptness. “Go take a shower. You stink.”

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taurin goes on a mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the chapters from The Man of the Mountains. Chapter 17 will be all new.

Chapter16

Taurin slid from the roof, grabbing his partner with him. They needed to fallback and fallback fast. He’d seen the bullet go through the general’s head, but they’d been spotted. The noise of the tossed grenade still vibrated in his ears. They’d had four of them on the roofs. The two on the other side had been hit. Taurin and his teammate Cyrus had laid down as much covering fire as they could, but they’d both seen the lieutenant tumble over the roof and fall in a lifeless heap, and Taurin had seen the bullet explode in Aison’s chest. Taurin didn’t want to contemplate if a field marshal and a general were worth the price. Now his only thought was getting to the rendezvous location.

They had the rubble and a population that was semi-hostile to Kalmacia on their side. Small comfort, deep in Kirpak with Kalmacian weapons and Kalmacian money everywhere. The local rebels had helped get them in place, but their loyalties shifted with the wind. Taurin knew his sandy hair helped. Kirpak had been an ancient ally of Tamor, but now her elite were in Kalmacia’s thrall. 

Someone’s head poked from a door. It was only a split second, but Taurin ran pulling Cyrus with him. The door opened, and Taurin and Cyrus tumbled into a tiny apartment packed with at least two families. 

“Inside,” a man with a scruffy beard whispered in heavily accented Unified. He waved his arms toward what Taurin presumed was the kitchen. 

A woman in modern dress of jeans and a loose flapping shirt looked up from an ancient stove. A baby rested on one hip and she stirred a big pot. She said something in the native language that Taurin couldn’t catch, the words too fast, everyday speech more different than the text or formal rambling of officials.

Taurin nodded and remembered his manners as a Tamorian. He apologized for their intrusion and thanked them for offering shelter. In Tamor where the weather could change with great suddenness, the offering of shelter was a sacred duty. Once given no one would turn a guest out. Kirpak shared the weather and the tradition.

“A Tamorian in an Alliance uniform,” the woman said with almost no trace of an accent. “I was educated in the Alliance before this latest war broke out,” she added in way of explanation. “What happened out there?” she asked the man who must be her husband. 

“They assassinated the generals.”

“There will be more suffering.”

“Our troops are within striking distance.”

“And we die in your war,” the woman spat in disgust.

“We murder less than them.”

“Hardly.”

“I’m Tamorian.” Taurin hadn’t wanted to play that card, but it was all he had left. The Alliance was a poor place for a Tamorian, but Kalmacia worse. The minorities in Kalmacia lived in near slavery.

“It’s the only reason you’re not in the street. They’ll kill a hundred or a thousand in retribution, and your bombs will fall and kill more.” She ran her hand over her long hair, brushing it back from her face that was lined long before its time. “Get them out of here tonight. They’ll pick them up with their helicopters if you get them to the outskirts.”

#

Taurin dried himself with the rough towel and put on a pair of clean fatigues. He’d been up close to forty-eight hours, but he was now in the relative safety of an advanced army camp. He could hear shelling in the distance, and to the west the lights of tracer bullets kept breaking the sky. The rumble of the heavy cargo planes was almost constant as supplies poured in over the mountains of Tamor.

He’d reached the Unbreakable’s camp through secure communications and been told to stay put. The other sniper team, deployed elsewhere in the city, had fared no better. Only one heard from, safe but lightly wounded, one captured, and two dead. They’d hit their targets, but the Third would be mourning losses again.

They’d been given a place in an empty tent that was at least dry. It was spring and the rains were frequent and hard. Cyrus had found some chow and left it on the rickety table which was the only furniture in the tent besides the two cots. It smelled vile, but Taurin didn’t care. He swallowed it, using the battered spoon to fill his mouth. He was scraping the edge of the container when he looked up to see a captain standing in the tent doorway.

“They said it was you. I couldn’t believe my ears. I had to see for myself, to see that sweet little piece of ass.”

“Go away, sir.” Taurin said, keeping his voice without emotion. 

“You aren’t going to thank my unit for their hospitality? Come on, soldier boy, where are your manners? You used to thank me so nicely.”

“My teammate will report you.”

“Really? You should know better by now. Didn’t you learn your place at the Academy?” The captain moved forward and stroked Taurin’s cheek. “See you like it. You don’t fight me. You want to be taken and used, Tamorian whore. That’s all you’re good for is a fuck.”

“Get off him.”

Taurin lived with these men. Familiarity allowed him to forget how dangerous they were, but in this instant the danger was shining for all to see. Cyrus with his hair still wet and in shower shoes had leapt from the door of the tent in a single silent motion. The glint of the knife blade was unmistakable as he held it to the captain’s throat.

“What are you playing at you fucker? Taurin’s ours. Don’t you dare touch him. We aren’t friendly. Get out.”

Cyrus wasn’t a big man, but at the moment he looked huge and as strong as any of those people who galloped around showing off their muscles. He picked up the captain and hurled him from the tent.

“Get. Consider yourself lucky this time.” Cyrus zipped the tent flap and turned back toward Taurin, his eyes alight with anger, his nostrils flaring. “Who thinks they can pull that shit on an Unbreakable?”

“He’s a captain. I’m Tamorian.”

“So?” Cyrus eyes went wide. This was a man who had lived through more campaigns then he could count on both fingers. He wasn’t naive. He’d seen the wreckage and hate of war. “Fuckers did that to you at the Academy. That’s why you scare the shit out of us half the time. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I’m surprised you haven’t killed every officer on the planet.”

“I’m hard to live with,” Taurin said very quietly.

Cyrus wasn’t Taurin’s best friend, none of his fellow soldiers were. He’d been Taurin’s spotter several times and didn’t object when paired with him, but they didn’t hang out together. Taurin hadn’t expected the fierce defense or the genuine anger and concern etched on his face. Cyrus looped his arm around Taurin’s neck and jerked him into a body slamming hug. “You give the word and you’ll have guys lining up for a little blood sport on your behalf. You don’t mess with us, and they need taught another lessen.”

“He dramatically outranks us if you haven’t noticed.”

“Sanders will have his balls hanging off the flagpole by morning if he tries anything, and if that’s not enough we might get to see Lucius in full righteous fury. I hope he complains. I’ve always liked blood sports.”

“Cyrus,” Taurin said, his voice half a scold, half hysterical with relief he didn’t understand.

“Roasted captains are the best kind. Lucius can make people’s ears bleed just by talking to them. When it’s not directed at me, it can be interesting.” Cyrus gave Taurin a wolfish grin. “I never said I was a saint. I enjoy seeing my fellow man suffer. I’m an Unbreakable. Crazy, you know. Sleep. I’m sure we’ll be woken for the sport.”

Forty-eight hours awake and any man could sleep. Taurin could sleep despite the loss of his teammates and the gnawing unease that the captain would be back. Taurin had been in the Unbreakables six months now. He’d almost pushed men like the captain to the back of his mind. The Unbreakables’ discipline didn’t allow it. Taurin wasn’t sure he believed everything his teammates told him about the exploits of their centurions, but Taurin could almost believe he was safe. He’d been almost proud to go into this mission with his blue beret, and he mourned the loss of his teammates. They weren’t his friends, not the way Cyrus would see them, but Taurin had respected and liked them as fellow soldiers. Lieutenant Manius had been decent to Taurin, never remarking on his hazel eyes or light hair. He’d been a good officer, pushing Taurin for more and not hiding when he was pissed or happy. Taurin had felt the rough side of his tongue, but he’d also heard the praise and known that he was being given more responsibility. In training at least, he was often put in charge of the men. Manius had led this mission, but Cyrus had automatically turned toward Turin as they were scrambling for safety alone and without their officer. Taurin would think about it later. He needed sleep. 

The sound of rain and voices woke Taurin. There were several men outside the tent. Taurin reached for his knife and looked across at Cyrus. He’d heard the noise also.

“They won’t step in a hornet’s nest twice. I’ll make sure of it,” Cyrus said, gripping his own knife.

The light was glaring. Taurin couldn’t see through the shimmering sharpness to recognize the men.

“Stand down, soldiers.” That was Sanders’s voice. 

“They’re crazy. They’re your responsibility,” the captain spoke in a wheedling voice. “They attacked me.”

“We take losses hard. I’m sure they weren’t at their most hospitable.”

“Hospitable?” Cyrus laughed. “Let’s not play games here. I threatened to cut his throat, but I’m sure he didn’t tell you that he couldn’t keep his hands off Taurin. Didn’t seem to get the word no. I told him slicing his balls off might fix his hearing deficit, but he was offended, sir.”

Sanders had lowered the light, so it no longer blinded Taurin. Two fully armed Unbreakables stood at his side. As the words came from Cyrus’s mouth, they shifted. An untrained man might not have seen it, but they were moving into a defensive perimeter, their knees were slightly bent, their hands more secure on their rifles.

“You know this man, Taurin?” Sanders spat, the word man sounding like a curse on Sanders’s lips.

“He was two years ahead of me at the Academy. He’s from an important family.”

“And you with no patronage were defenseless. I can fill in the rest.” Sanders’s hand went to the captain’s throat; his knee connected to the man’s groin. A regular army soldier moved to intervene.

“Don’t even think about it, sweetie.” The voice of Sanders’s escort was low and filled with menace. “Touch our centurion and you’ll die before your next breath. We’re very deadly, and you know that, my friend.”

“We’re fighting a war, or I’d take you home and let you know what it’s like to be alone, to be tortured, to be treated as less than human which you clearly are,” Sanders said, his voice filled with menace. “I’m not going to kill you only because I want you to pass the word to all your sick friends. Taurin is ours. Anyone touches him and I’ll have their dick and balls for trophies.”

The captain would have screamed, but Sanders blocked the noise with his arm.

“My dear, we can’t have you disturbing others. Hurts, doesn’t it? You don’t want to know how many ways I can torture a man here.” Sanders savagely twisted his hand that was at the captain’s crotch. The captain gurgled unintelligibly; his face distorted in pain. “Just a little promise between two friends,” Sanders purred. “Now get out of my sight.” Sanders pushed the captain from the tent.

Taurin knew he was staring at Sanders in a useless glazed way. If the enemy showed at the moment, he wouldn’t be able to move out of the way. His feet might as well be encased by cement or his legs of rubber.

“Get your gear,” Sanders ordered, already striding toward the jeep.

Seating for five with gear was impossible in a jeep. They were tumbled on top of each other, clinging to any available surface as they careened down the muddy path. The small encampment of Unbreakables was thirty miles away. They were nestled against a hillside in what had been a farmer’s field. Taurin could see the outline of stonewalls and the ruins of a silo in the light of the jeep’s headlights. A guard stopped them and demanded a password before smartly saluting. Men were loading gear into trucks, their faces set, their movements economical. 

Sanders’s optio nodded and half saluted. Still walking and barking orders at the men by the trucks, he turned toward Sanders. “Our team got Lucas. He’s safe—no casualties.”

“We still lost four,” Sanders said, wiping his hand over his face. “I knew those men; they were my friends.”

“They were all our friends.”

“Come back safe.”

“You know we always try.” Sanders’s optio jogged forward and swung into the truck. “Tell me all about those two when I get back.” He waved and the truck engine roared.

“Get some sack time. They’ll be a debrief at 08.00 hours. Find a spare bunk and crash,” Sanders ordered.

Taurin watched Sanders walk toward his temporary field office. The man looked tired. The shadows under his eyes and the line of stubble starting on his usually clean shaven chin attested to several days of little or no sleep.

“Sir, can I be of help,” Taurin called.

“I told you to sleep, soldier.”

“You look worse than I do, sir, if I may say that. I could at least make coffee, sir.”

“You don’t owe me for tonight. I did what any decent human being would do,” Sanders said, his voice not hiding his exhaustion.

“I owe you for the last few months, sir.”

Sanders rubbed his hand over his face again and his shoulders sagged before he made them ramrod straight again. “I knew it had been bad. I can read between the lines. I wish I could have stopped it.”

“You weren’t there, sir. You aren’t responsible for every nobleman’s stupidity and cruelty. Our lineage follows both of us.”

“Taurin, get the coffee. Drink it yourself. The units will be checking in on a thirty minute timetable. I’m getting an hour of shuteye.”

“Sir?”

“Lieutenant, don’t tell me you’re not capable of this.”

“No, sir,”

Sanders waved his hand. “Find supply in the real morning and get the bit of metal for your shoulder. We’ll figure out the rest when we get back to base.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir,” Cyrus said at Taurin’s right. “Permission to locate us a sleeping area and get some rest?”

“Go ahead.”

Cyrus hesitated a second and then saluted, the crisp and perfect movement of an Unbreakable. “Congratulations. Don’t let it go to your head, sir.” He gave Taurin a cockeyed smile. “I get antsy in officer country.”

“Get, boy. I have to go make coffee. Important officer work.” Taurin let a small smile slip onto his face and break his usual grimness. “Thank you. You know what I’m thanking you for.”

“I do, sir, and it was my pleasure. Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Cyrus.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taurin rescues a baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all new stuff, never seen before.

Chapter 17 

Three months later.

Taurin crouched against the ruins of what had once been an apartment block. Like almost all the buildings in this northern Shiraki city, it was a bombed out shell, hit repeatedly by artillery fire and bombs and now only inhabitable by rats and the various militia groups in the city who were no better than rats. In fact, Taurin preferred the rats. The Unbreakables were here supporting the Alliance’s current proxy fighters du jour, a vile group who changed sides with the lure of cash as fast as the winds changed directions in summer. Maybe once long ago a few of these men had been the freedom fighters and idealists portrayed in the Alliance media, but now they were killers who survived by killing more. They didn’t know who or what they fought for, they just fought. For the population caught in this deadly and continuous rain of bullets and shells, full occupation by the Kalmacian army would be a relief, and it was what Taurin and his team were here to prevent.

Taurin shifted forward, ducking behind a blown off doorway, remnants of the door still clinging to one hinge in splintered shreds. He waved for the two men behind him. This was supposed to be the headquarters of the notorious militia commander known as the Wolverine, but they were too late. The Wolverine was gone and headquarters were overran with the Alliance’s allies du jour, men in grubby green fatigues with a red and yellow ribbon tied around their arm for identification. Incompetent and brutal soldiers, all of them. The target had escaped, likely tipped off by someone within the militia helping the Alliance. They hadn’t seen Taurin yet. A young soldier was scrounging through boxes of papers while another was collecting the tinned food piled on a rickety shelf. It wasn’t those two men who held Taurin’s attention, it was the two older ones. They were the usual militia soldiers, men with dead eyes and even deader souls. They might be only in their late twenties, but they’d seen nothing but death and killing, and they earned their bread by being cheap murderers for hire. They glanced over at the sound of Taurin’s boots on the floor, but turned back to the girl who was pressed against the wall with wide, fearful blue eyes.

Hostages were common in Shirak. Men took women as their right. The woman’s shirt was torn open, and the man’s hand groped her breasts, squeezing too hard for any pleasure. The woman was resigned, spreading her legs as the militia soldier pushed her into the desk. For a second her eyes rested on Taurin, Shirak blue, deep pools of suffering flickering and then going out as she stared away, assuming that Taurin and his soldiers would take their turn also. Two other women huddled on the floor, one incongruously in a cocktail dress the other only in a man’s fatigue shirt and dirty white panties. A baby cried between them. No one reached to comfort the child. The woman now impaled by the man looked over at the squalling baby.

“Shut the kid the fuck-up,” the other older militia man, who was waiting for his turn with the sprawled girl, snarled. He jerked a knife from his pocket, flipped the blade open, and advanced on the baby. The woman whimpered; the two on the floor looked away, but made no move to protect the child. The two militia, who were ransacking the place, didn’t even look. They were busy opening a tin of pears with a knife.

“Please,” the girl pleaded, reaching to stroke her rapist’s face.

He laughed, cruel and hard, bending down and biting her swollen breast.

Taurin lifted his rifle. He was a good shot, maybe the best in the centuria, but here even a novice could hit the target. The high power rifle exploded. The man slumped over the girl’s body. She screamed. The second bullet tore through the other with the knife. The two younger ones in a panic dropped the pears; syrup gushed across the dirty floor. They held up their hands, terror bright on their faces.

“Please. Sir. No. Please,” they pleaded in desperate strangled voices.

“Shinzlan,” Taurin growled, using the ancient Tamorian word, the word he wasn’t entitled to until he was trained and bonded, but had already escaped his lips. He heaved the corpse off the woman, tossing the body on floor as if it were no more important than a piece of wood. The younger of the two remaining militia men, too young for even the faintest of a beard went to the floor, sprawling in front of Taurin in absolute supplication.

“Please, Master,” he pleaded. He kissed Taurin’s boots, a disgusting, desperate slobber.

Taurin wound his fingers in the filthy hair and jerked the head from his boots. He didn’t want to touch this creature. He hurled him away, reveling in the pained cry as he jerked oily hair from its roots. 

“You have no right to mercy. Tie them up,” Taurin ordered his own men. 

They were both experienced soldiers, Aeneas of the Second Contubernium and Felix of the Eighth. They said nothing at the order and with quick efficiency bound the two militia soldiers. Aeneas was approaching retirement; he’d seen many young officers through their first assignments, and he was far too experienced to question Taurin here, but Taurin had no doubt he’d be asked later and that this would be passed on to the centurion. These militia were supposed to be their allies, and he’d just shot two of them and was leaving two helpless to any passing vultures. They might be lucky and be found by their own, but they were just as likely to be killed and tortured by the ever rotating groups of enemies. It was probably no mercy to leave them tied and helpless. He should raise his rifle and finish them also.

The girl scrambled off the desk and pulled the remnants of her blouse together. She reached for the baby pressing it to her chest while her eyes never left Taurin. She’d been beautiful, but now her face was mottled with scars and bruises, and the word whore was carved into her forehead in a deep livid scar. The other two women hadn’t moved, too dead, too inured by violence to do anything but huddle on the floor. The girl kissed the baby’s face, whispering something in her native Shiraki which Taurin only understood at the most basic level. She held the child up, offering, pleading.

“Master. Tamor. Take. Please.” Her Tamorian was broken, her accent thick and garbled, but Taurin knew her intent. 

He reached for the child. It was insane; they were in a war zone. They would be hunted by all sides soon as it would only be hours at most before word got out that the crazy Alliance soldier had shot his own allies. He cradled the child to his chest, stroking the silken hair that covered the tiny skull. 

“Please,” the girl pleaded, dropping to her knees and pressing her head to the floor in a desperation that made Taurin’s insides churn. She didn’t have to plead or debase herself. This was desperation borne on fear of violence and terror, not the homage due a master. “I’ll take her,” he said, continuing to stroke the child’s face. “Her name?”

The girl shook her head. “Tamor. Tamorian name.”

“You want me to name her?” In ancient time, a child taken by a Tamorian soldier especially by a master would become Tamorian. Taurin hadn’t thought the tradition was still known. The child would be Tamorian, protected, cherished as a Tamorian for whatever that was worth in the modern world. Tamor was better than here. Tamor was paradise compared to here. This girl would surely die here if not this year, next, but Taurin would take the child. He would give her that.

“Hefren,” He kissed the tiny forehead, bestowing the blessing as he pronounced the name. 

“Hefren,” the girl whispered in benediction. 

“Tamor welcomes her.” Taurin held the tiny body upward and faced the direction of his mountains. He held her up for the gods to know and see, to beg for their protection and blessing for this new child of Tamor. He could do nothing else. He could offer no other protection and safety, but he would guard the child. He wrapped the child in his coat and without another word or another look at the wreckage around him moved toward the street. 

They were supposed to rendezvous with the other half of his team who were embedded with the militia. Now they must scatter, mission abandoned. He’d taken the child and put his own men at risk. Aeneas and Felix had to know. Aeneas was already reaching for his disposable phone. He barked orders, curt instruction to disappear and to make their way to the extraction point. Taurin had blown up the mission over a foreign baby, over a tradition that he could hardly explain.

Now he needed to get his men out of here. They would be without protection from any side in one hour, two hours if they were lucky. They had a truck outside, a gray pickup with a shot out back window and a missing taillight. They’d have to avoid the city’s ragtag checkpoints. Outside the city, the rural farmers kept their heads down and scratched out a living on the rocky soil, their lives little changed from their ancestors. It was the final ten miles to the border which would be difficult. Here they would find Kalmacian patrols. It was a violation of the treaties between the two countries, but they both knew it happened. There was supposed to be a demilitarized border between Tamor and Shirak with only Shiraki border guards. Both sides knew weapons moved across this border and that the men in uniform didn’t belong to the current Shiraki government.

“Where to?” Felix asked, swinging into the driver’s side. “You’re holding the baby. I’m driving.” His entire tone suggested exasperation and bordered on direct insubordination. 

“North. We’ll go across the border in Tamor.” 

“Great,” Felix said, “mountain climbing with an infant. Next time you want to try one of these crazy ass stunts, you could tell us, Lieutenant. We’re supposed to be protecting each other’s asses.”

“Drive.”

Felix’s head snapped up, and he visibly flinch at the power of that single word. “You bastard,” Felix muttered, jamming the car into gear and mashing down the accelerator.

Taurin didn’t bother to answer. He cradled the infant closer, stroking the girl’s silky hair and fighting the emotions he no longer controlled. Power, unchecked and untamed, surged in his mind and heart. He’d heard the demand in his voice. It had been the demand of a master, the demand that was the voice of the gods. He felt the child’s fast heartbeat and the tiny puffs of breath. This infant, too young to speak, barely old enough to grasp his thumb in tiny fingers, was Blessed. She would have the blue eyes of his centurion’s bond mate when she grew up, the cornflower blue that often graced the most precious of Shirak. To not protect this child would be a crime against the only shred of Tamor that he still held in his heart. He’d sold himself to the enemy, prostrated himself to false gods, but he couldn’t leave this child. He was Tamorian. He still wanted to call himself of Tamor.

“Felix, don’t piss off our dear lieutenant right now. I want to get out of here, so I can have the pleasure of dumping his sorry ass on the centurion.” Aeneas shoved at Taurin’s shoulder, still friendly, but also a warning and an expression of exasperation. “You know you’re crazy, dude. Sir,” he added after a moment’s hesitation. “We all like babies, and we all like to be the good humanitarian when we can, but the shit’s going to fall for this one.”

“She’s Blessed. I could not leave her.” Taurin shut his mouth with a near clank of his teeth. He didn’t act Tamorian, not around his men, his fellow soldiers. They didn’t brutalize him for his hazel eyes and sandy hair, and he kept his mouth shut and tried to fit in. Centurion Sanders was kind about his foreign officer, almost fascinated with Tamor. He’d tried to engage Taurin in conversations about ancient Tamorian battle tactics or the structure of the Tamorian armed forces. He knew of the bond, not that he understood it, but Taurin had been circumspect claiming it was more a legend than a fact. Sanders beckoned Taurin in ways that weren’t safe or sensible. The safest course was to keep his mouth shut and be as Alliance as possible.

He’d failed at being Alliance. He always failed at it. He was a Tamorian, of Tamor, a Blessed. This very child was proof, and the gods could not have thrown it at him more definitively if they had whisked him to Mount Sabor for a personal chat. 

“Tamorian crazy shit,” Felix drawled, yanking the wheel of the truck to the left to turn down a side street and miss the checkpoint at the corner. “You know I’ve been stationed there twice. It’s not exactly paradise, especially for your women. Do they even get out of the house without a keeper?”

“Shut up!” Aeneas snarled, surprising Taurin with his vehemence. 

“You like the place?” Felix continued in his same insolent tone.

“Our lieutenant is Tamorian, our brother in arms. Leave his crazy ass homeland out of it. He didn’t actually shoot us, so I’m giving him some brownie points, and I hope he has some plan for getting us out of here before we become hostages to one of these animals.”

“The border region was once Tamor. They’ll help their own,” Taurin said with more confidence than he felt. The traditions in Tamor herself were almost gone. In Shirak they were even weaker. Much of the border regions had been cleansed of the native people and replaced with citizens from the lowlands and from Kalmacia. Shirak was supposed to be independent, not even part of United Kalmacia, but the freedom was illusory. Shirak was a part of the Kalmacia power sphere. 

They reached the highland farming region as darkness started to fall. It was still early in the spring, and here it was cold with patches of snow dotting the shaded regions. Taurin searched the darkening landscape, looking for the traditional stone outbuildings in a circular arrangement around a stone house. Clapboard houses and metal barns were foreign and expensive imported materials.

“Try here.” Taurin pointed to a narrow and rutted track cut between two stone pillars. He could just make out smoke rising from a chimney and a barn set back against a hill. The truck headlights captured a ruined stone fence, a shed with a roof patched with a blue tarp and a flock of sheep huddled together around the hay feeders. Two large dogs barked and leapt at the truck, their teeth gnashing against the tires. 

A man came out of the house. He held a lantern in one hand, but was unarmed. He wasn’t dressed as a Tamorian, but in jeans and a heavy sweater. He had a red wool cap pulled down over his head. He whistled for the dogs as he approached, and they moved to circle around his legs.

“You lost,” the man grunted, leaning into the truck window. He froze as he saw the fatigues. Men in uniform with guns were dangerous. The lantern swayed as he jerked back.

“We seek the grace of your hospitality,” Taurin said in formal Tamorian, the language of Shinzar, words that if this man understood would make them safe, mark them as friends.

“Tamor?”

“Of the great mountains. We have a child, a Blessed.” Taurin uncovered the baby’s head from where he had her swaddled in his coat. “We seek to cross the border.”

The man leaned forward. He held up his lantern and peered into the truck. “How old?”

“A few months. Of the mother god.”

The man stared again, seemingly in a stupor before the words tumbled out. “Bring her inside. She’ll freeze out here.For the love of the gods, how did you get here?” The man pulled off his hat. His sandy hair scattered across his forehead and draped over the top of his ears. He held up his hands to the sky and the mountains and muttered an incantation under his breath. “The only house in ten miles that they wouldn’t have shot you. Get inside, you lucky fools.”

“The gods shelter the fool and the child,” Taurin said, climbing from the truck and bowing low in the ancient greeting.

The man grunted something incomprehensible. He was already stomping back toward the house. He shouted for his wife who came to the door with a second lantern.

“Leave your weapons here,” Taurin said, spotting the rough wooden bench next to the door. “Boots off at the door.”

“Sir?” Aeneas questioned.

“Tamorian hospitality. No weapons inside.” Taurin had already taken his rifle off his shoulder. He emptied his pants pockets, leaving his two knives as well as the coil of wire that made a deadly noose. His men followed, uncertain, but still obedient. 

The man and his wife had gone inside. Taurin could see the lanterns in the window and he saw the flicker of another lantern being lit in the room that must be the kitchen. He walked inside, flanked by his two solders whose bodies nearly vibrated with tension. Unbreakables didn’t surrender their weapons, and they didn’t follow half insane officers.

The house smelled of home. Dried peppers and leaves of the summer spices hung from the walls in long strands. The stove was wood and smoke clung in the air. The woman bent over the ancient icebox, pulling out milk and cheese. A kettle had already been set on one of the burners. The man pulled a mishmash of cups from a high shelf where they sat among a potpourri of animal figurines. Almost hidden among the grazing deer and the smiling bunnies was the Shinzar herdsman pair, the gods of the flock and the crops. Taurin crossed the floor of the kitchen and scooped the icon into his hand. He brought it to his lips and kissed it, reciting the blessing from memory. His mother had taught him this one. These same gods rested on their kitchen shelf.

Taurin turned at the sound of sobbing. The woman had sunk to her knees; tears ran down her face. Her hazel eyes, set deep in angular cheekbones, glistened with falling wetness. Taurin stooped and reached for her hand.

“Get up. Please. I am not deserving.”

“A warrior of Tamor is always deserving,” she said, kissing his hand as he tried to pull her to her feet.

“Of the Alliance. I fight for the Alliance,” Taurin said, feeling the shame coil around him like a constrictor snake around its prey’s neck. 

The woman came to her feet with a lurch. Her hand reached out and traced Taurin’s cheek and then the baby’s. “No, for Tamor. You will see.” She touched her forehead with two fingers the sign of a believer, and turned back to the milk that she’d set on the rough wooden table. “The baby needs food. You will warm yourself. Where is your destination? Sit down. I will get you tea and bread, and cheese. It is all we have.”

Taurin smiled, feeling the world of his home wash over him. His mother was like that in the home, commanding her kitchen with more precision than he ever managed with his troops. “We seek a master for the Blessed child.”

The woman nodded, placing the milk bottle in a pan and setting it on the stove. “Across the border or so it is rumored, at the merging of the three streams and the crag of Tardan.”

“Do you know the way?”

“I can get you across,” the man said. He was slicing the bread, a thick and heavy loaf of dark flour. “I used to go across. Now it is dangerous, but I can do it once. Few of us are left.” His voice roughened into a pained whisper. “Soon there will be none who know. This use to all be of the mountains.”

“We remember,” Taurin said. The remembrance for those lost outside the present borders of Tamor wasn’t part of the officially approved and sanitized version of Shinzar, but his mother had fasted and stood in the circle of candles and drawn in the dirt the map of Greater Tamor. “The child will know.”

The man nodded. “She already knows, asleep against the breast of the protector of the mountains. Take care of yourself.” The man hesitated, searching for the name that Taurin hadn’t offered.

“Taurin, Taurin of Tamor.”

“Walk with the Blessed, Taurin of Tamor. Our time will come.”

“Our time will come,” Taurin echoed, repeating the ancient call to remember and defend the Kingdom of the Seven Peaks. It was a call to arms, a demand to rise up that would bring the security apparatus of the Alliance down on the believers again with their sledgehammer of oppression, but still the words rose and escaped Taurin’s throat. “We have not bled and suffered in vain. We will return.”

Taurin glanced over at his two soldiers. They were being quiet, drinking tea and disappearing into the walls in silent watchfulness. He hoped neither spoke fluent Tamorian because the words were treason. Even Sanders would have a limit; his curiosity over Tamor couldn’t stretch to Taurin mouthing revolutionary slogans. Aeneas was watching Taurin with sharp, dark eyes. Felix was more relaxed, drinking the black tea, and looking like he’d finally decided that Taurin was going to get him out of this mess alive and that he didn’t care how he interacted with the old farm couple as long as they were soon on Alliance soil. 

“I’ll get the horse,” the man said, speaking in the common Shiraki tongue now. He stood up and headed for the door. “No one will notice a horse and cart; the border guards will notice a truck.”

“Can we hide the truck somewhere?” Aeneas asked. His eyes swept to Taurin, not actually asking permission to follow the farmer, but giving Taurin a chance to stop him with an order.

“In the barn for now,” the farmer said. 

Taurin woke the tiny burden he carried against his chest. He kissed the small forehead, his lips feeling skin that had yet to survive one full set of seasons. She cried once, a sharp squawk, as he pressed the bottle prepared by the woman to her lips. The child’s mouth latched onto the nipple. She sucked greedily.

The women smiled. “She’s going home. Someday we will all go home.”

“Someday,” Taurin answered, stroking the scrunched face with a single finger. This was such a fragile and tiny creature. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched the small bit of life that was his to protect and defend. He was a defender of the mountains, an expression that he’d heard tossed at him as a child. He’d sworn to defend the Alliance Constitution and her territory at his graduation from the Academy, but those were words spoken in unison with his classmates on a stifling June day. This was different. This was a child of the mountains.

“The Blessed,” the woman said in a reverent whisper.

Taurin looked up from the child. The woman was crying again, fat tears trickled down her deeply lined cheeks. She made no effort to wipe them. Her hands were tightly wound in her floral housedress. Her eyes drank the image of Taurin and the baby as if it were the last drop of water that would ever pass her lips.

“Don’t cry,” Taurin murmured. 

“I cry with joy,” the woman said, her voice firm, her hazel eyes never breaking from the feeding child. “They cannot kill us. They can try. They can shoot us, beat us, rape us, drag us to foreign lands and try to make us forget, but they will fail. The gods have not forsaken us; they have not forgotten their children. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Nothing the infidels do matters now. I have seen it. They can burn me alive in my house tomorrow, and I will go to the valley of death with the knowledge that will make all who have bled and died in hopeless despair sing with joy. The prince has come.”

“No,” Taurin said too sharply. “I’m only a soldier. I salute the Alliance flag.” 

“They cannot see, but I can; the child can. The children shall flock to his feet and take nourishment from him.”

“I’m holding a bottle,” Taurin said with some exasperation. He knew the prophecy. He knew the legends. They were legends. They belonged in the past. 

“The people will know, Taurin of Tamor. The child, untainted by the deceitfulness of man already knows. Gather your forces. Learn the skills of war. We will wait.”

Taurin didn’t answer. Such fanciful hope was harmless enough. Maybe it was all that allowed this woman to wake up every day surrounded by her enemies. He wasn’t the great prince. His mother might insist that he carried the blood, but even if he believed such wild tales of ancient blood, he was born in a defeated nation. There was no Tamorian army, no Tamorian nation, no inviolate borders.

The child finished the bottle, and Taurin, remembering his mother with his younger brother, brought the child to his shoulder and patted her back until he heard the soft burp. Her tiny fingers wound into Taurin’s shirt, and she fell asleep again.

The man came back inside, hay clung to his shoulder and he smelled of horses and sheep. He didn’t need to say anything; Taurin knew it was time to go. He swaddled the child again in his coat and stood up. 

“May the gods bless you,” Taurin said, bowing to the woman.

They went back outside. Night surrounded them. It was the night of his childhood, dark with brilliant burst of stars and a half moon that hung low in the sky. The air was sharp and clear and heavy with the frost that would coat the grass when the sun rose again in the morning. An old horse was hitched to a wooden farm wagon. The horse’s coat had faded to a flea-bitten gray, and his back had sunk, leaving withers that pointed upward like the sharp crags of the mountain peaks. The man stroked the horse’s neck, smoothing the tangled mane absently before climbing up onto the wagon seat. Aeneas reached down and helped Taurin into the back of the wagon. Felix had grabbed the weapons and jumped in behind them. The man clucked and the horse moved off in a stiff trot. He turned onto the narrow, muddy track that served as a road. The twin lanterns banged against the wagon’s side. The road was deserted. They travelled several miles before the man reined in the horse and jumped down to open a gate. He snuffed out the lanterns, and they continued on through the field. 

“The border is up there,” the man said, pointing into the darkness. “It’s only lightly patrolled where there are no roads. You’ll have to walk from here.”

Felix and Aeneas had already jumped from the wagon. Taurin reached into his pocket and shoved a wad of bills into the man’s hand. This money had been to bribe the militias in Shirak. He had two more rolls of it, more money than he’d ever touched, more money than this man had ever seen.

“I don’t need it,” the man said, trying to shove the money back at Taurin.

“Keep it. You have better use for it than my government.”

The man nodded, wadding the bills into a tight ball and cramming them into his pocket. “You’ll have to walk about a mile. The first road you come to will be in Tamor. Follow it along the creek, at the bridge will be the master’s driveway. Be safe.”

“And you.” Taurin climbed from the wagon and followed his men who were already ahead of him.

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taurin meets a master.
> 
> This is a very short chapter.

**Chapter 18**

The path was as the farmer promised. They crossed the high meadow and splashed across a shallow creek covered by a thin skim of ice. Felix swore under his breath at the cold water. The road was no better than the farmer’s track on the Shirak side of the border, ruts and mud and half frozen puddles from the spring thaw. They saw no one. It was still too early for the farmers to rise. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, sensing strangers but not knowing their exact direction. The bridge was wood and slippery; heavy frost covered the planks. Taurin searched for the promised driveway, finally spotting the pile of stones that marked the narrow footpath. He could see no lights ahead, but that was not unexpected. There was no electricity this high in the mountains where the rhythm of life hadn’t changed for centuries: cold and hardship punctuated by moments of sheer terror when foreign troops knocked on doors and pulled people into the night never to be seen again.

The barns were tightly clustered around the house, neater than many he’d seen at home and the stone fence had recently been mended. From inside the largest barn he heard the growl of a flock guardian, not the higher sound of a herding dog, but the deep reverberation of a dog who killed enemies of the flock for a living. Taurin approached the small house. Its shutters were pulled tight against the cold of the night. He raised his voice, shouting into the stillness.

“Master, Master, I come in need. Hear me please.” It was the ancient call to the master to guard his flock, the people of his village who he was sworn to protect. He hoped he wouldn’t have to pound on the door. It was the police and army who pounded on the door. Taurin waited and shouted again.

The deadbolt groaned, and the door swung open. A man stood in the doorway; his weight rested on a walking stick, and his shoulders bent toward the ground. In one hand he held a lantern that was still smoking from being lit. The man saw the guns, the fatigues, the soldiers. Slowly with the dignity of the aged and the wise, he set the lantern down and drew himself up to what had once been a formidable height. This man was tall by Tamorian standards and even now as age had wasted his frame the breadth of his shoulders matched Taurin’s.

“I will go without a struggle. There is no need for violence,” the master said, his voice hoarse with age, but reverberating with the power of the ancients.

“Master.” Taurin went to his knees. “I have a Blessed. I come in peace.” He held the swaddled child out in his arms. “I come for her protection, her future.”

The baby squalled as it left the shelter of Taurin’s chest. 

The man stepped forward; his bony hand, cold with age, grazed Taurin’s hair. “She has bonded with you, my son. She cries to stay with her master.”

“I cannot. Please, I beg you. I am a soldier of the Alliance, an enemy of my own people.”

The ancient farmer dropped painfully to one knee, both hands grasping Taurin’s shoulders to steady himself. “You are of the people, a Blessed. You are never of the other. I forbid you to deceive yourself.” He grabbed Taurin’s chin in fingers that were gnarled and calloused, but still held the remnants of the strength of the herdsman. “I will take the child, but you will not deny Tamor. Is this a bargain you will accept?”

Taurin looked into the master’s blue eyes. This was the Shirak region, many had blue eyes. The man’s were steady, glittering with determination and sureness. They were set deep in a face made gaunter by the passing of time. Taurin drew a deep, shaky breath. 

“I Taurin of Tamor give my word.”

“I Master Gethin take it in the name of my house and in the name of Tamor. The child she’ll be mine: protected, cherished, and honored. She will be raised in the way of Tamor and of the gods.”

“I can ask no more, my master.”

“I am not your master, my son, but I will demand your heart for Tamor. That is the payment for the child.”

“I would give you my life.”

“Your life belongs to the gods and to those who show you your strength, Taurin of Tamor. You must stand in the forces of a world I hardly understand, but I feel your strength. It buffets against mine, wrapping mine in the promise. You will live up to that promise. I hold you to your pledge which you gave to me on your knees in supplication. Now rise.”

Taurin came to his feet and reached to help the master who grasped his wrist and braced against Taurin. His wife had heard the commotion or maybe she had just known, but she stood in the edge of the lantern’s light, her thin frame wrapped in the traditional shawl. 

“A Blessed child,” she whispered.

“Two, my mate,” the master responded. “Our soldier is still un-bonded and un-trained. May the gods bless them both.”

He took the baby from Taurin’s arms. Incredible shrieks rose from the child’s mouth. 

“Shh, my tiny one.”

“Hefren,” Taurin said, turning away. He must leave. The child wasn’t his. She was with her master. His duty was outside. 

“Go into the world, Taurin of Tamor. You will be back. Do not doubt yourself. Now go. She will bond with me, but not with you here.”

Taurin walked into the night. With fierce determination, he didn’t look back.

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taurin returns and faces Eliot.

**Chapter 19**

Eliot was furious. Taurin had endangered his own men and had lost what little support the Alliance military had in Shirak. The night of complete worry and anger when Taurin had vanished with two of his soldiers was still fresh, his anger still not covered. Eliot knew Lucius had fielded enraged calls from the higher-ups who organized the Shiraki engagements. He knew there had been whispers of treason and defection. Lucius had sent Eliot and his centuria out on a tactical exercise, keeping them far from prying eyes and ears, and handled the brass, but Taurin was his soldier. He had Eliot’s protection, and he owed Eliot his loyalty. Eliot had trusted Taurin and had that trust thrown back in his face.

Eliot’s body vibrated with the same nervous energy as his mind. It was a struggle to stand at attention before the first centurion. Lucius was far from pleased. Taurin was Eliot’s responsibility. Eliot had failed, and Lucius, as the first centurion, would take the brunt of his failure.

“Taurin acted on my orders, sir.”

Aquilla, who was lounging against the windowsill behind the first centurion’s desk, made no effort to hide his disbelief. The snort was loud and pointed. The first centurion didn’t look at his shield mate. His eyes never left Eliot. He didn’t look around when Aquilla picked up a stack of files, snorted again, and left the office with a bang of the screen door. Eliot couldn’t blame Aquilla for his reaction. Eliot was failing at his duties as a centurion. He was going from one disaster to another. He had damaged his relationship with both Lucius and Aquilla. He would have to fix it, but right now he had to address the problem with Taurin. This was his mistake; Lucius shouldn’t have to bear the burden. This was Eliot’s man who had disappeared for more than twelve hours and apparently murdered their Shiraki contacts. 

“Are you going to look me in the eye and lie to me?” Lucius asked, coming to his feet and towering over the battered desk.

“That is what’s going into my report, sir.”

“Eliot, I can have this conversation with you at medical after I take the skin off your back. It’s entirely up to you,” the first centurion offered, taking his seat again.

“As you wish, sir.” Eliot kept his eyes forward, not looking at anything in particular.

Lucius let out a sigh and looked at Eliot. “There is something poetic about the fact that you have to deal with that crazy Tamorian of yours. Stubborn seems to come naturally to both of you.”

“Taurin is my responsibility.” 

“And I know that, Centurion. But you forget that to my eternal regret, the two of you are my responsibility. As long as I have this”—the first centurion tapped the golden eagle on his shoulder—“you all are my responsibility, and you all are answerable to me.”

“Sir, you know my name will protect me from virtually everything. Taurin is Tamorian. He has no protection other than me.” Eliot shifted his eyes to meet the first centurion’s gaze. 

Lucius’s palm connected with the well worn surface of the desk. “Taurin is my soldier, Eliot. He has my protection. I protected him those twenty-four hours I kept you out of sight. My lies to General Lucan and his staff are the reason Taurin is not in chains. General Lucan takes me for an honest if obstinate man. We have clashed before, and I don’t usually invent stories out of ethereal dust. Do you think I would abandon a brother?”

“No, sir!” Eliot said hastily. He hadn’t meant to offend. Accusing the first centurion of that was inconceivable. Beyond the duties of his rank, Lucius was a good man. He would never abandon any of his men.

“Good.” The tightness of the first centurion’s jaw was telling of his still present anger. “It seems you forget your place, boy. I’m the first centurion. Taurin is yours by proxy. He’s my solder, never forget it.”

“He’s mine.” The words had been spoken before Eliot realized what he’d said or the heat behind it.

To Eliot’s surprise Lucius didn’t look angry. He studied Eliot through narrowed eyes.

“Interesting.” The first centurion’s voice was soft, the cadence of it pensive. 

“I apologize, sir,” Eliot offered, knowing it was expected, yet not feeling it even remotely. Taurin was his and that idea seemed to pulsate in his brain, shooting deeper roots with every second that passed. “However, my report is going to stay the same, sir,” Eliot added after a second of heavy silence.

“Eliot!” There was warning in that one word, but it also betrayed his exasperation. 

“Sir, as I’ve said, my name will protect me, but you and Taurin do not have that luxury.”

Lucius stood up and came to stand inches from his centurion. “You do not protect me, boy.”

“You are my first centurion; I protect you. I serve you.”

“It’s nice to see you remember that. Try to keep it in mind. As well as what it means.”

“Sir, I—” He never got to finish.The first centurion stuck out his finger, silencing Eliot.

“You nothing, boy. I told you the first day you came here, I don’t care about your blood or your name. You might not believe me, but it is so. For twenty-five years you belong to the Unbreakables—your life, your very essence belongs to us. And right now, I am the will of the Unbreakables. Whatever you are belongs to me. Your name is mine; your skills on the battlefield are mine. If I need your name, I will demand you use it. Your name will play a role when it comes to the Unbreakables only on my orders.”

Eliot struggled to maintain the neutral mask on his face and not glare at the first centurion. No matter how the words made him feel they were true. Lucius was his first centurion—he was the supreme commander of the Unbreakabes. Eliot owed him his obedience and loyalty. This was a man Eliot respected beyond duty of rank, a man who Eliot proudly called a mentor and a friend. 

“There’s only one thing I want to hear from you now.”

“Yes, sir,”.

“Good .”Lucius looked over Eliot’s shoulder and then addressed him again. “Our crazy Tamorian is here. We’ll continue this conversation later.”

Eliot felt anger rise in him again. Taurin owed him an explanation. 

#

Taurin checked the sheaf of papers one more time and walked into First Centurion Lucius’s office. He’d already handed in his reports, but the military liked paperwork and the Unbreakables were no exception. He’d filled out the incident reports in meticulous detail on the flight back to base. His flaying alive would be well documented.

He knocked once and heard the first centurion’s voice telling him to come in. Lucius was behind his desk; only the coffee pot and a single file perched on the battered wood. Centurion Sanders was standing against the wall, his arms crossed, anger bubbling from his surface.

“Sirs.” Taurin snapped to attention.

“Lieutenant,” Lucius finally said. He didn’t tell Taurin to stand at ease; he didn’t add any more to that single word for another long moment. “The report you submitted was exhaustive. I learned the color of the pickup and the number of potholes in the road. I didn’t learn why you blew up an entire mission and months of covert operations over a single baby. Shirak is not paradise. Children die everyday. Do you have any reason?”

“Sir, the men—“

“You’re not naive, soldier. Do not use the repulsiveness of these militia men as an excuse. We all know who does the fighting in Shirak, and none of them are heroes.” Lucius flipped open the folder on his desk. Taurin was sure it was for effect; Lucius probably had every word memorized. He tapped his finger on a line. “You left the women. They were innocent also. Why, Taurin?”

“It was a baby.”

“Bullshit! Lieutenant, this stunt could send you to the stockade. It could be called treason. Some have already tried to call it aiding the enemy. I want to know why I should continue to cover your ass; something you seemed to have forgotten for your men.” Lucius sat down, cocked his head, and his voice softened. “What are you not telling us? You’re many things, Taurin, some I’m sure I don’t understand—Tamor and all her mysteries.” Lucius leaned forward, his dark eyes capturing Taurin, pinning him, expecting him to yield. “Are you going to tell me?”

“Sir, I made my report.”

“I’m not asking you the exact number of derelict buildings in a five mile radius. I’m asking you why, Taurin. Honor, truth, country, brothers—that should mean something to you.”

“It does, sir,” Taurin said, keeping his voice neutral and not looking at either centurion.

“Your country, Taurin, is it Tamor, or is it the Alliance?”

“I am an Alliance soldier, an Unbreakable.”

Lucius came to his feet, a slow mass rising from behind the desk. He leaned his weight on his hands, his fingers splaying across the scarred surface. “I am not ignorant, Taurin. The Battle of the Tinrath Pass.The Defense of Kyroth.The Invasion of Kuban. We may be publicly silent about Tamorian history, but we study it at the War College. The Blessed warrior. The defense of the land and the people. Shirak was in Tamor’s thrall. What are you not telling us?”

“Sir?”

“Lieutenant Taurin of Tamor, you are many things, but stupid or a liar, you are not.” Lucius’s dark eyes studied Taurin with unwavering deliberation. He was in no hurry. The silence hung stifling in the small office. “I know what of Tamor means, Lieutenant. Maybe not exactly the way you understand it, but more than ninety-nine percent of my countrymen. Do you care to enlighten me further, Lieutenant?”

“Sir?”

“Taurin, I know you are neither a traitor or a coward. I also know you are not prone to rash actions. You did not shoot those men and compromise months of work in a fit of hysteria. We”—Lucius’s eyes shifted to include Eliot—“are entitled to an explanation.”

“First centurion, Centurions,” Taurin amended, searching for time, searching for an explanation that he didn’t have.

“Are you a Blessed of Tamor, of the Seven Kingdoms? Answer me.”

“I--”

“This is a yes or no question, Taurin. No wavering. No hedging. You wear the blue beret. You owe me an answer. You owe your centurion an answer.”

Taurin didn’t speak of it, at least not in the sense beyond the personal. Even speaking of the personal bond between mates, the Shinzar marriage as the Alliance called it, was difficult. These men weren’t going to accept his silence. He was going to have to speak.

“Yes, sir.”

“And the child?”

“Yes, sir,” Taurin said, trying to keep his voice remote and steady

Lucius sighed and ran his hand over his short hair. His dark eyes rested on Taurin, his face now more tired than angry. “That explains it. Taurin, for gods’ sake stand at ease. It would have been nice if you’d told one of us. We might have been able to head off this disaster before we were neck deep in your shit and crazy ass beliefs. Discipline is never going to trump religious calling.”

“Sir, I—“

“Don’t dig your grave any deeper. I should have known. I’ve heard the lectures at our War College. I’ve served in Tamor. I saw it. I saw it in you. I just wasn’t believing my own eyes.”

“Taurin is my responsibility. If there is anything we missed it’s on me,” Eliot said, pushing away from the wall.

“Shut-up, Eliot,” Lucius snarled with the full fury of a first centurion. “You’re not old enough to have seen it, and you have a childish fascination with Tamor that colors your judgment.”

“Childish fascination? Why? Because I don’t assume the worst when he goes missing for a few hours?” The anger was boiling off of Eliot. His body was taut, on the edge of attack, his hands balled into fists.

“I’m saving his ass,” Lucius said in a slow draw, “but I won’t be able to save yours if you hit me. We’ve already had this discussion, Eliot. I won’t do a replay. So what will it be?”

Taurin watched Sanders. The muscles twitched in his cheeks, and the centurion’s teeth ground together. The first centurion, for his part, was looking unconcerned, his eyes on the file.

“Sit down,” the first centurion said after several long minutes.

Sanders sat.

“Eliot,” the first centurion said in a calm and steady voice, turning toward his centurion and Taurin’s commanding officer. “I am not blind to the unease of many when faced with the unknown, and I have done this a few more years than you. I cannot deny that Taurin is different from those of us who grew up with the smell of blast furnaces and paper mills in our nostrils or in the breeze of seaside homes. Taurin is sworn to the Unbreakables. He must behave as an Unbreakable officer. He is under your immediate command, but he is my officer as well as yours. His failure is your failure, but it is also my failure.

“I’m old enough to have served in Tamor when memories of the riots in Tingrit were still fresh. I was only ten when they happened, but our troops opened fire on unarmed, kneeling civilians on the streets in Tingrit. It’s been whitewashed now, but my first decanus had been sent there as part of the peace keeping force. He was a bastard, a mean son of a bitch, but a good soldier if you were in a firefight. I remember being stuck up in one of their damn villages guarding an air force installation. Almost a dozen years after our little massacre, we still didn’t trust the Tamorians not to harass or attack our installations. No officers anywhere, just our decanus, me green and only six months out of the Academy, and a bunch of full of themselves, bored, and arrogant Unbreakables. This man—we called him the village fool—came to complain that we were damaging the water source downstream. He must have been ninety or at least he looked that way to me. He was babbling on about the stream and sacred water when my decanus handed him a wad of money and tried to push him out the door. It usually worked well enough. I suspect you can guess what happen, Lieutenant.”

“He didn’t take the money, sir.” 

“This was a man who didn’t have two coins to rub together. I can still hear his voice, his accent in our Unified. ‘The lord of the land protects the gods’ realm and the people.’ He looked at me with hazel eyes that saw my inexperience and my willingness to dismiss him as a madman. ‘Pay the locals to dig latrines. It will be cheaper than guarding your backs.’ He handed the money back and walked out the door.”

Taurin hadn’t known this story, but it was fitting of Tamor. Rule brought responsibility, something the Alliance never mastered. The intricate balance of ruled and ruler was an unknown dance to their current overlords. 

“My decanus handed this problem to me and my fancy degree, and I paid the locals to dig latrines and to walk the river bank weekly for trash. I also bought meat and produce in the local market. I ran into the man about a month later. Somehow I suspect he put himself where I’d find him. He was selling berries, small paper bags of fruit. I purchased two. He took my money, and at first I didn’t think he recognized me, not until he spoke as he handed the change back. ‘To understand Tamor and her secrets, you must follow the ways of the Blessed. You did right, boy. Take this lesson with you. Those who rule must learn it, or you will fail.’”

“The Blessed duty, sir,” Taurin murmured.

“I was young then. I thought the man was crazy or at least a bit addled by age. I didn’t even realize I remembered those words until you fell in my lap. The hold is still powerful on your people. I am mostly ignorant of it, a few words said to a young soldier in passing is not understanding. There is a power in the Blessed, a power that led your nation for centuries, a power that still simmers under the glaze of the Alliance. I won’t pretend to understand what it means, but, Eliot, I suggest you find out from your officer, and find out now. He was willing to risk everything for a Blessed child, and you seem willing to risk everything to protect him. You can’t command those you can’t understand, and he hides from you. Centurion, you consider Taurin yours. I expect that to mean something.” First Centurion Lucius came to his feet. “Gentlemen. Reports on my desk before morning.” Lucius walked out without another word.

Sanders stared, his green eyes penetrating Taurin, demanding his attention.

“You’re an Unbreakable. Your loyalty belongs to me and to your men. Does that mean anything to you? You abandoned your team over a damn baby. A baby Taurin! I don’t care about Blessed bullshit. I care about my men.”

Taurin braced himself against his centurion’s onslaught. He could feel the anger, the outrage, the sense of betrayal which had never been Taurin’s intention. The child had been beyond his loyalty to these men. He’d blown up the operation in Shirak. He couldn’t deny it. He understood the anger. He deserved it.

“I’m not the heartless bastard that you’re trying to paint me into. Do you think I never want to step in and stop the suffering of an innocent? Do you think I don’t see the torment of the vulnerable? We all do, Taurin, me and the men who you so casually abandoned, as they waited and depended with their lives on your words and actions.  And do you know they’re defending your ass. They wrote piles of words in their reports over the fractured loyalties of the militias and their composition which they described colorfully as fucking animals. And I agree wholeheartedly with that description. I have a better knowledge and understanding than you might imagine of exactly how depraved and degenerated those animals are.”

“Sir, it wasn’t about the militias.”

“Shut up, Taurin. I’m trying to understand you, and they’re trying to defend you, and all you do is dig yourself deeper. You might as well hand me the bullets and tell me to shoot you for treason.”

“Sir, I did it. I know what I did. I know I put my men at risk.”

“We are Unbreakables. We go where they tell us, and we do what we’re told. We defend our people, our country the best way we can, and sometimes it means having to live with things no man wants to live with. Taurin, I trusted you with my men. You just proved that you have loyalties that come before your pledge to us. To the very men who are ready to walk across the world for you.”

Eliot paced across the narrow office, his anger rising with each click of his boots against the cement floor. Taurin wanted to mentally shift himself away. He’d done it often enough at the academy, hearing and seeing as if he were elsewhere, the words and anger flowing off of him like the rushing rivers fed by the melting snow. But this was his centurion. This man commanded Taurin and not only because he had more hardware on his shoulder. 

“You risked your men’s lives and blew up a mission and possibly any Alliance future in Shirak over a baby who you dumped at the nearest farmer’s house. Do you have anything to say besides the child is Blessed? You don’t paint targets on your men. If you want to do some personal heroic craziness, you do it after everyone you’re responsible for is safe. We don’t leave men behind, Taurin. You practically pushed them in front of the enemy and handed them the fucking bullets. And whatever our first centurion was willing to tolerate about the Blessed, won’t wash with me. You are mine. You don’t behave like a rash fool without my express permission. Do you understand me, Lieutenant?”

The words pounded into Taurin’s head, each one as if shot from a warrior’s bow. He’d seen Sanders angry. The man had a temper; all the men knew it.Taurin had been spared his temper, but now it washed over him in a torrent. He’d chosen the child and left his warriors exposed. He knew it; he’d known it when he’d lifted his rifle and squeezed the trigger. It hadn’t been calculated odds or a strategic move; he’d followed an ancient force that had gripped him in an impossible undertow. He’d do it again. He knew he would, and it would be just as wrong for his men. His centurion’s rage would be just as justified. 

“Sir.” Taurin dropped to one knee and lowered his head in the ancient pose of a young bondsman with his master. “All you say is true. I accept your judgment.”

Sanders gripped Taurin’s hair and jerked his head up. “You’d do it again, wouldn’t you? No matter what I say and do, you’d do it again.”

“I couldn’t leave her, sir.”

“There is no such thing as can’t for an Unbreakable, Taurin. Are you one of us or am I a fool for believing you are? You left her fine with some impoverished sheep herder who is far too old to be chasing a child. So, don’t tell me you couldn’t have done it. This is about some loyalty and duty I don’t understand, and I’m not willing to bet my men’s lives on some long dead myths and legends.”

“She’s Blessed.”

“So you told the first centurion. What does that mean to you? And a real answer not some fable about an old man and troops shitting in the river.”

“It is the ancient way,” Taurin said, his voice rising from his throat in only the thinnest of whispers. “Tamor prospered with her Blessed. They were the link between man and the gods. They were sworn to live by the teachings, to sacrifice their own will for the people.”

“Taurin, I don’t need a citing from your history books. I’ve read them.” Eliot let out a sigh that sounded exasperated. “You can’t believe any of this. Next week you’ll be telling me you see dragons.”

Taurin stayed silent. It was impossible to explain, not to a foreigner, not to someone who prospered in this world. Taurin even doubted it. He’d told himself it was all ancient history, myths of the ignorant, but he’d heard the gods up on that damn mountain with the snow raging everywhere and men freezing as they walked. He’d felt it the moment his eyes had grazed that child. It had gripped him, demanded something he couldn’t even explain to himself.

“I know that I’m asking you to fight for those who hurt you, hurt you badly, unimaginably, but you’re not the only one I ask that of.And maybe I’ll never be able to understand what you’ve been through, and I’ve given you allowances for that, but this is where I draw the line. Every single one of these men are mine to protect. I cannot risk their lives for your political and religious beliefs. And I don’t even know what those are and I don’t care. The Unbreakables stay out of politics and religion. I do not ask what you believe, and I will not as long as you don’t kill my men with it. Kill them and you cannot believe. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” It was all he could say. He’d felt the power from this man. He’d felt it as he’d gone to his knees. He saw it every day with Ronan, but Sanders was blind to it or at least he professed absolute blindness. 

“You promised obedience when you took the blue beret and again when I handed your rank back to you. Taurin I must know and none of your Tamorian riddles and what I’m beginning to see are half-truths from you. I’m owed your knowledge.”

The words were true. The knowledge of the one who knelt belonged to the master, even to a foreign master. “The child will hold the fire. Destiny cannot be escaped.”

“I expect my officers, my men to live in the real world.“

“The Blessed are real. Ronan holds the fire.”

“Ronan is a damned fine soldier, maybe the finest in the centuria, but he is not some religious shaman. This is the modern world. You can’t possibly believe the child had the mark of the gods. You are an educated man.”

“Modern, civilized. Tamor had great walled cities when you were still running around in nomadic bands with clubs chasing wildlife.” Taurin bit back further words. This was his commander who was justifiably angry. Taurin had breached his duty. He deserved the anger. Shouting back wasn’t worthy of a Tamorian. “Sorry, sir.” Taurin bent forward, lowering his head, offering his apology in the ancient way. 

Sanders grabbed Taurin’s hair and jerked until Taurin was bent backward, straining to look up at his centurion. “This is the Unbreakables. You will do and think as I say. Nothing else matters, not Blessed babies, not the shit that happened to you at the academy, not the curses because your hair is light.”

“Yes, my centurion.”

Sanders towered over Taurin his fingers not slackening their painful grip. “You’re mine. You’re an Unbreakable. I gave you that damn blue beret.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Taurin,” Eliot said, the terrible anger gone as quickly as it appeared, his fingers in Taurin’s hair going from punishing to gentle. “I don’t condemn you for your heritage. I condemn my own government’s attempt to eradicate Tamor’s religion, Tamor’s identity, Tamor’s culture. You can believe what you want until you start killing my men with it. If this Blessed insanity kills my men, you can’t believe it.”

“My obedience and service is your right, sir.”

“More words of that religion of yours?”

From others those words would be an insult, a racial slur. Sanders was many things: arrogant, driven, uncompromising, but he wasn’t a racist. Taurin had seen him too often with his blue-eyed mate. He’d seen the fury when the comments of Shiraki whore floated in the air. Taurin had felt Sanders’s protection. No one touched him. No one spat sheep lover or worse at him. Taurin commanded men. He was treated like any other officer. He was trusted.

“I don’t know, sir.” It was the most honest thing Taurin could say. His service was owed to his bonded master, the man who should have guided him into adulthood and sealed Taurin’s future with his mate, but Taurin had fled. He couldn’t imagine himself behind a flock of sheep, only finding comfort in ancient words and memories that were almost lost. “The Blessed are supposed to follow Shinzar law, but I have already broken it many times. We have to live in your world. I accept that. It’s pointless to live in the past.”

But he couldn’t shake the past. He’d run from his people and his traditions. He couldn’t escape. It was a suffocating pain in his gut. He’d always be Tamorian, the sandy-haired one from poverty. 

“But you took that child. If I halfway understand you, the motivation was some ancient and fantastical legend.”

“Sir, it wasn’t deliberate.”

“Taurin,” Sanders roared. “If I thought this had been some sort of premeditated attempt to blow up the mission, the skin would already be off your back.” Sanders’s voice softened. “I’ve seen you crawl down the side of a mountain with a man on your back. I’ve seen you meticulously plan a sniper’s nest and mercilessly kill the enemy. I’ve seen you push your men behind you. You protect your men; you protected men who hated you for daring to be more than their servant. What happened? I can’t trust you. I can’t send you back out there if you can’t tell me.”

Taurin shifted, squatted on his haunches and looked up into the face of his centurion. Eliot Sanders was known as hard and uncompromising, a bastard who thought nothing of driving his men beyond pain and desperation. He was also known as a man who shared that pain and desperation. He bled with his men; he cried with his men. His soldiers feared him, but they adored him also. That was the paradox of the Unbreakables, the paradox of mastery.

“I need to go home, sir.”

“You can’t resign from the Unbreakables. I’m not giving you a dishonorable discharge; you’d live under constant harassment and threat of arrest. I’ll transfer you to the kitchen staff if I have to.”

“Sir, I’m not asking for that.” Taurin spoke fast, trying to cover his own uncertainty with a rush a words. “You asked me what I needed not to do this again. I need to get my head in order. I need what lies within our Seven Peaks.”

“Taurin, you know I’ll never persecute you for being Tamorian.” Sanders’s voice was sad, brittle with confusion and tiredness.

“Sir. Master,” Taurin mumbled in a choked whisper, a voice he knew didn’t reach his centurion’s ears as be bent forward and pressed his head to his centurion’s boots. “You have my loyalty. I gave you that. I could beg you for forgiveness, but what good is that when I can’t stop myself. I knew I was putting those men at risk.”

“Talk to me.” Sanders yanked Taurin to his feet. “You don’t get to grovel and mumble religious incantations. Look me in the eye and tell me what’s going on.”

Taurin drew his eyes up and forced himself back into the expected military pose. “I’m Tamorian.”

Taurin had expected Sanders to interrupt, to mention that Taurin was stating the obvious, but the man stayed quiet. Taurin admired his centurion’s instincts. He knew when to speak and when to let others talk.

“I’ve known since I was very young,”Taurin continued. “It’s called a Blessing, but maybe it’s a curse. I’m born in the century of telephones and airplanes and exploration of the solar system. I was going to be a new kind of Tamorian, a Tamorian who wasn’t backwards and superstitious. I was going to prove that we were as good as anyone in the Alliance. Tamorian warriors were feared and praised for centuries. We were rich and prosperous. We ruled ourselves. I was going to prove we were worthy again, fool dreams of a fool boy. I’m superstitious; I’m crippled by my religion. I’m a stupid, worthless peasant boy.”

Taurin rocked back, surprised by the slap across his cheek.

“Don’t you ever speak of yourself that way or your people. You are mine that gives you worth enough,” Sanders said. “You have a heritage to be proud of. Tamorian warriors were the pride of their people for a reason. They died with their heads up; you will not spit on them.”

“They lost,” Taurin said, feeling the defeat in his heart, the pain his people must have felt as the prince’s battle standard was dragged through the dirt behind the Alliance horses.

“Your army fought heroically against a numerically superior force. We promised to honor you in surrender and we lied. We hung your general for treason. We ransacked your cities and sacred places. We raped your women. I don’t like to believe this, to admit this. I love my country, but I’ve been to war. We were a conquering army, and conquering armies do terrible things. I know we didn’t liberate you. We didn’t bring civilization to the abused peasant, but look at your country compared to Shirak or Kirpak. It wasn’t all a bad deal for you. The Tamorian population in Shirak fled to the Alliance. That says something about us. We protected them.”

“Eliot, I need to go home. I need to find a master. You want to know how to stop me doing this.” Taurin waved his arms, knowing his centurion would understand it meant all the craziness of the last few days. “I’ll come back. I give you my word.”

“How long?”

“A month or two. I don’t know.”

“Tell me what you’ll do?”

Taurin took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I only know what I remember from my mother as a small child and what I’ve read in the legends. Masters are rare now. I have a name, a man who approached my mother the day I left for the Academy. I will find him and put myself at his mercy. I shouldn’t be loose in the world. I need the teachings. I can’t explain it. Please.”

“Taurin.” Centurion Sanders’s hand grasped Taurin’s shoulder in that strange possessive grip. “You will come back. Damn it you will, but if you can’t, you tell me. I’ll fake your death. You won’t go into the world a fugitive. I owe you that.”

“You’ve already given me far more than you owed me, sir. I’ll come back. You have my word, the pledge of a Tamorian Blessed.” 

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius's thoughts wander.

**Chapter 20**

Lucius wiped the sweat from his eyes and continued to push his body. He was too old to deal with his frustrations this way, but if he was honest with himself he’d always escaped through self-inflicted physical punishment. Even as a young child, he’d played sports with a brutal gusto, training far harder than any of his peers. Captain of every sport he’d ever tried, willing to run for miles, and decent grades; the Academy had been happy to have him and the Unbreakables after that.

The golden eagle, he’d never imagined that. He’d never imagined Aquilla. He’d wanted the clever boy with the broad shoulders and narrow waist from the first time he saw him. Lucius had dated the obligatory girl in school, but he’d never really cared. He couldn’t talk with them, and the obsession with scoring by his fellow jocks never excited Lucius. Sure he could have sex in the back of a car or the storage closet that smelled like spilled bleach, but it was the blind leading the blind. Teenage hormones were supposed to make up for their own clumsiness, but Lucius had missed that directive. 

Aquilla was different: unattainable, desirable, and gorgeous. Lucius had been stupid over him, but he would never have done anything but look. It was Aquilla who took charge. Lucius could still remember that grab in the shower and the first kiss after a long training session. They both ran steeplechase in spring track, an insane event that was a good warm-up for the Unbreakables. Lucius had been lingering in the shower hoping to will away the bruises when Aquilla’s hand had touched his ass and his warm lips had hovered over Lucius’s ear.

“You want it?”

Lucius’s short nod had been answered by a rough kiss that had set the world on fire. They’d been inseparable since that day. Aquilla would probably show up behind the next rock at any moment and blast Lucius for running too hard and too fast. He’d tell Lucius to make up his damn mind. You want their skills, so you live with their insanity, or you decide they’re a liability and cut them loose. They’d had that conversation or its twin a thousand times. Aquilla, for all his ease around people, didn’t like Taurin. No, that wasn’t quite right. It was more that Taurin made him uneasy. They’d talked this morning before Lucius met with Eliot and his wayward protégé. Aquilla had been blunt with Lucius as usual.

“It’s part of Taurin. If you take it away, you lose what makes him Taurin, what might make him great, but it comes with a heavy price.”

“I didn’t think you believed in spirits and gods and religious flimflam.”

“Lucius, what you and I believe doesn’t matter. It’s what Taurin believes, and you know as well as I do the boy is loyal, so the only possible thing that could make him act that stupid is the Blessed insanity. You see him look at the mountains. You see him at sunrise and sunset. He tries to pretend, probably even to himself, but he’s a true believer. He has Shinzar stamped all over him. You have to decide if you can live with it, and if you do get that boy to a master before he does something entirely insane. They do control their own.”

“I thought you detested religious brainwashing.”

“I do, but as a centurion my job is to produce functional soldiers for our dear Alliance. If you want him functional, he needs his cultural underpinnings. He’s betwixt and between and that’s dangerous.”

“So?” Lucius had asked after Aquilla had spent three minutes spreading jam on his bread and stirring sugar into his coffee.

“You have the gold eagle,” Aquilla had said with a grin. “It’s the one good thing about this arrangement; I can pass on the hard choices.” Aquilla had taken a bite of toast. “No, really I say keep him, but make him admit it. He has to see himself for what he is as much as we need to get used to it. The Alliance wants to crow about its wonderful freedoms. We can have a Shinzar soldier. Why not?”

Why not? Lucius drew the sun baked air into his lungs and stared off into the low mountains of the Fourth Province. These were the foothills of Tamor’s mountains, and Taurin’s eyes always swept over their bare crowns probably imagining the towering snow-capped peaks of home. Lucius wiped the sweat from his face and drew a long drink from his water bottle. Why not? He repeated in his mind. 

Taurin had admitted it. He hadn’t even balked, but why did Lucius feel no more comfortable? He had seen far too much of the ugliness of humanity to believe in spirits and gods and miracles, but he’d felt something in his office today besides the heat of the sun and Eliot’s short temper. That noble brat still ran at the mouth at the worst times. Sanity should have made the boy shut up, yet he’d challenged over Taurin. Lucius splashed water on his face. No, he was getting old and fanciful or having heat stroke. It was just Eliot’s noble childhood that made him come off as expecting everyone to bow to his wisdom. Eliot liked Taurin, Lucius could see that, and he could understand it. Eliot was drawn to the exotic, Ronan and now Taurin, and Taurin made more sense than Ronan. The boy was an intellectual and military match for Eliot. Eliot hated the inborn security and superiority of the First Families. Taurin’s brilliance, with nothing behind his name but a few sheep and a stone hut, enchanted Eliot. He would defend him, more than he should, trapped again by his noble name being able to move people to his will like a child moved toys across a game board. Taurin would be good for Eliot if they both didn’t go off the crazy end.

Lucius took another swallow of water and stared up at the faint blush of snow that clung to the rocks away from the sun. Should I pray for your guidance, those who gallop in the snows that touch the heavens? Too much Taurin. He turned and started back the long and dusty track to base.

He let his mind wander as his feet splashed through the fine red sand. Tiny swirls of dust rose after every footfall, reaching his knees and then dissipating into the sun baked air. Eliot and Taurin were his. They were his problem. Lucius could run faster, push the uneasiness from his mind with the pain of his aching lungs, but the problem would still be there. He was first centurion. He faced his problems head on. He didn’t hide, not even in pain that was the familiar friend of an Unbreakable. Pain meant life; the absence of pain was the void of death.

He could manage Taurin or at least he thought he could. Tamor was a strange world, but Tamorians had little power in the Alliance. Taurin could die or vanish and no questions would follow. No one would notice except the family, and a poor peasant family from Tamor had no clout. Lucius sucked the hot desert air into his lungs. He didn’t want that result. He liked Taurin. No, liked wasn’t the right word. He’d never be friends with that boy or want to go for a drink with him. Lieutenant Taurin of Tamor—a Blessed of Tamor, no wonder they all held their breath around the boy; only Eliot walked with impunity around Taurin.

Eliot of Calatis, how had he ever been fool enough to think that boy was controllable? He only had to whistle and half the nation would be fawning at his feet. No, Lucius snarled at himself, he wasn’t going to condemn Eliot for his heritage any more than condemn Taurin for his. Maybe he had been first centurion too long. He’d become too confident in his own ability to manage his men and to avoid the pitfalls of politics. For an Unbreakable they were both from the wrong side of the tracks: a lord and a foreign peasant.

The Unbreakables were built from men like Lucius and Aquilla, men without titles and family pedigrees in gold frames. They were the heart of the Alliance, the real Alliance, not the gilded, hollow buffoons of estates and fancy wines and chauffeurs. They were free of the taint of patronage, and Lucius had handed it back on a silver platter.

He’d taken Eliot for his word. He’d watched the boy struggle to fit in, tripped up by his fancy words and manners and cold arrogance. He’d watched him not give up when he was kicked down by his fellow soldiers and not run home to his mother’s skirts. He’d watched him painfully and almost shyly follow Aquilla’s lead on social interaction. Eliot wasn’t a follower, bending himself to another’s will was almost visibly painful for him, and Lucius respected him for trying and even succeeding. Eliot was a born soldier, fearless, but not tactically stupid, and only reckless when desperate. The Unbreakables chewed up those who were reckless and left their bleached bones littering battlefields around the world. Eliot had the skills, and then he would toss it all away in a fit of possessive rage.

Today wasn’t the first time that Lucius had questioned his sanity with that boy. Lucius had seen it with Ronan, but Eliot had been younger and more lonely than a man in the Unbreakables should be. He also hadn’t been a centurion. Lucius had looked the other way; he knew he had. Maybe it had been Eliot’s nobility or Lucius’s fruitless desire not to discriminate despite the roots of his soldiers, not against Ronan, not against Eliot. Maybe it had been a desire to see the poor boy happy. Lucius could still almost grimace over the word poor. The Calatis family was wealthy beyond mere mortals’ imaginations, but it wasn’t money where they were poor. Lucius didn’t know Eliot’s family or not beyond the pictures in the newspapers and the official biographies, but as first centurion he had to move among the nobility at state functions. He didn’t envy them their wealth and status; he pitied them their closed vision and blind pursuit of social status. Universally dull, but convinced of their own brilliance. The few who tried to escape the clutches of their families more beaten than any steel worker’s son or tenant farmer.

Eliot had been different. He’d escaped the First Families even as they clutched at him with bejeweled and wizened hands. Damn it! He wasn’t going to push him back into their grasp. He was an Unbreakable. He protected his own, even when they were stupid beyond his imagination, even when they resisted protection. The first centurion didn’t lose. He was keeping his impossible, noble centurion, even if it was his destruction. He was too far in this to change his mind now. Eliot was to be first centurion. Lucius didn’t care about losing face; he was at the pinnacle of his career. He had the gold eagle, but he wouldn’t weaken the Unbreakables. They were his, his legacy, his men, and Eliot Sanders, son of a damn Calatis lord, was their best hope. 

Lucius doubled his speed, the hot air tearing at his lungs. His mind screamed for him to be sensible and stop, to find shade, to drink water. He was an Unbreakable. He wasn’t sensible. He knew how much pain his body could take. He knew what it would take to block everything but the pain.

No! He slowed his pace and trickled his warm canteen water down his throat. Running to exhaustion, running away was cowardice. It was defeat, and Eliot was clever enough to see any sign of defeat. Lucius was playing an impossible game; he couldn’t show anything; he couldn’t give Eliot ammunition. Eliot wasn’t the enemy. He was his soldier, his subordinate. He would follow Lucius’s will. Lucius liked the damn man, maybe loved him. They were brothers; they stood shoulder to shoulder—lord and peasant. Eliot was impossibly charismatic; Lucius felt it, the charm and the intensity that seemed to be directed only at you, the ease in which he took over a conversation or a room. Now as centurion and trained by Aquilla to blend with the masses, Eliot was nearly unstoppable with a group of soldiers. They would do his bidding, even perhaps against the first centurion’s will.

Lucius stopped, shielded his eyes against the sun, and studied the mesa that unfolded around him. This was his home and had been for twenty years, the high desert of the Fourth Province. He knew the sun and the dust and the browns that burst into a brief riot of color in the spring rains. He knew this better than the moist air of the sea and the rumble of waves. He knew this better than the long stretches of wheat that flowed like a river without end in the Third Province. He knew this better than the tired industrial city of his parents. This was his home, and he would do all in his power to protect it. 

Eliot Sanders was the best man to protect it. He was the fierce warrior; he was the man lost to civilian life. No man was flawless; Lucius’s own flaws could fill a book and spill and spread to the next volume. Someday some historian might categorize his idiocies; the only comfort was that he’d be dead by then. The golden eagle would sit on the noble whelp’s shoulders and the Tamorian peasant would protect it and contain it. Taurin was the counterweight. It would be the only way. Lucius was going to make it happen. It was the only game he could play, and he played to win—the hawk on the sandy-haired warrior and the golden eagle on the noble.

Lucius bent down and let the sun baked sand play through his fingers. They should fear them both. Aquilla was right to shudder in their glare, but harnessed together the Unbreakables would be the force of legend. It was his duty to win this war for the Alliance, to put the best and the strongest and the fiercest against the enemy. May the gods help them all if the enemy was them.

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taurin goes to a master.

**Chapter 21**

 

Taurin leaned back and stared at the sky of early summer. The sun was at its zenith, beating down on a land which was more used to winter. The stream ran along its shallow banks and his bare feet hung in the water. The water was so clear if he looked he could see the tiny fishes that invaded the shallow eddies. Further from shore, a heron fished, her nest nearby in the dead tree at the fork of the trail.

Taurin allowed the sun to dry the water from his shoulders. Caderyn had sent him to bathe this morning in the stream rather than in the water they drew from the pump. It was another one of his cryptic orders that was rich with meaning if Taurin could figure it out. The master had been gone for several days, to the distant village where he sold the wool and meat of his flock. Like most masters, he lived far from the cities and possible detection or harassment from Alliance officials. Caderyn still had two mates, a practice prohibited by the Alliance government. Niven, his bond mate, was a stocky man with thick fingers and short legs. He was from the lowland region of Tamor in the valleys between Tamor and the Third Province, the land of orchards and fields of grain. Caderyn’s other mate was Niven’s sister. She’d been bonded with Niven to ensure procreation, a custom that the Alliance described as barbaric. 

Now she was well beyond her child bearing years, but she remained in her only home. She was a woman of few words, her presence only felt by the hot meals and the clean clothes Taurin found folded on his bed in the afternoons. She’d had children, four of them from the gold framed picture that sat on the simple table where they ate and where Caderyn sat and wrote in his diary in the complicated and ancient Tamorian script, a language that had been mostly lost to its more simplified form. Taurin knew the language; his mother had insisted, and Caderyn had been pleased at Taurin’s knowledge.

Taurin shook his head, and the last of the water flew from his hair. He finger combed it back into place. It was longer now; he’d have to cut it to return to regulation length. He’d been here three months. His leave had been one, but twice he’d been given permission to extend it. Taurin suspected Caderyn was communicating with Eliot on his trips into the village and had arranged for the extensions. His centurion had become Eliot, not the remote and impersonal Sanders. Caderyn had changed that somehow, but Taurin wasn’t sure how it had happen. The man never appeared to do anything but take Taurin for long walks to gather firewood or summer berries. He dried the herbs from his tiny garden and pointed at weeds for Taurin to pull.

“We have a young back. Let him do the stooping,” Caderyn had said to Niven. 

Labor was expected of someone seeking guidance, and Taurin didn’t object. There was a timeless rhythm to life here, a pace that brought back memories of his childhood. Taurin moved the flock. He’d driven them in for the shearing. Caderyn had hired men from the village, but it had taken half the time with Taurin’s skill and strength. He’d cleaned the cistern by the house and had mended the roof. All easy work compared to carrying seventy pounds of equipment on his back and threading through enemy lines.

Taurin reached for his shirt and slipped it over his shoulders. He would have stayed exposed to the sun, but he could see the dot of Caderyn on the path. Tamorian customs were different than the Alliance. The bare backs of the Unbreakables when they stripped their shirts in the desert heat would bring Caderyn’s wrath down on their head, a thinning of his lips and the steady feeling that he expected more. 

The man was mild to the point that the Alliance would consider him a pacifist. He walked away when faced with anger. Taurin had shouted at him, snarled at Caderyn’s few words that meant Taurin was supposed to elaborate. The only anger Taurin had seen was when he spoke of the Academy. Caderyn had risen to his feet and set his hand on Taurin’s shoulder, a human presence that had felt like a lifeline. 

“If revenge falls in your lap, feel no shame in taking it,” Caderyn had said in his calm dry voice. “They ceased to be human long before they met you.”

“What would have happened to them in ancient times?” Taurin had asked, suddenly fascinated by the vision of his tormentors suffering.

“Shinzar law is not kind. We have no parole and no pardon for such crimes. They would have been enslaved; maybe the youngest, the ones influenced by their peers and without the will to choose, would have been allowed to choose death or enslavement.”

Taurin had asked probably what everyone asked who was born in his generation. “Isn’t death worse than slavery?”

“You know this answer yourself. They wanted to enslave you, force you to their will, break you. They failed. They hurt you; they violated you, but you are Taurin of Tamor. If they had killed you, you would have died Taurin of Tamor. A slave is the property of the master; all identity is lost. The slave is dead, but not dead. Still living and breathing and knowing every day of his loss and of his crimes.”

“But—“ Taurin had started.

“You think of the stories of the slaves who did great deeds for their masters, who suffered gladly for their masters.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Taurin, they did.” Caderyn had rubbed his hand over Taurin’s neck. “But they were not the same men who had been enslaved. They were the masters’ slaves and nothing else.” Caderyn had paused and leaned his weight against Taurin’s strong shoulders. “Maybe that is a mercy, a rebirth, but I cannot imagine. I don’t want to imagine it.”

“Sir, Master Caderyn, but what of our others?” 

“Your bond mate,” Caderyn had said in his slow cadence. “The curse of Alliance propaganda.”

Taurin had wanted Caderyn to elaborate, but he’d stayed silent, his shoulders resting on a large boulder, his hands still on his lap.

Finally Caderyn had spoken, one of his open ended questions. “Who is the bonded mate?”

“My other half, the one who holds my fire, my shield. He’ll be at my feet, subject entirely to my will.”

“You will be subject to him or to her, Taurin.”

Her. Taurin’s brain had immediately gone to that word. He was a soldier. He would have a male bond mate.

“You will have children. That is not a choice for a master.”

“I’m in the Unbreakables. I’m away all the time.” The protests had rolled off Taurin’s lips.

Nothing. No response.

“Siani, isn’t even Blessed.” It had been a cheap shot. Taurin had known it the minute it left his lips. He was attacking Caderyn where he was most vulnerable.

“She came with her brother. It is an ancient tradition, and I have made peace with it.”

“How can you? It’s why they call us barbarians, uncivilized.” Taurin had leapt to his feet and kicked a stray pebble down the path. “Her life is forfeit to you.”

“And mine is forfeit to both of them.”

“That’s bullshit! You call the shots. They both are invisible at the snap of your fingers. They never say a damn thing.” Taurin had kicked at the gravel again, the loose stone sprayed around his feet. The silent power was enticing, intoxicating. He wanted it; he wanted a warrior at his feet.

“They speak through me. They have shaped me. Taught me to love. Taught me not to be jealous. They are siblings. I did not break the link between them, but learned to rejoice in their closeness and draw strength from it. Do you think what I have done with them is wrong? Do you think it is cruel?”

Taurin had huffed in frustration, and Caderyn had smiled gently and patiently. The man never said what to do. He never gave orders. He sat and asked a few questions and made Taurin give the orders to himself.

 Taurin watched him wind down the trail now. His steps were careful on the steepest part. He stopped once to look out over the vista, a view that he saw every day, but he still stopped every time. The old dog was with him, his muzzle flecked with gray and his eyes clouded. Most herdsman would have shot the dog. He was useless, another mouth to feed, but Caderyn fed him the best meat and stroked the graying head as it pressed to his knee.

Taurin couldn’t see the small house from here, but he knew that Siani was hanging out their clothes. The house would smell of baking bread and the sweets she prepared for her brother and Caderyn. It was their indulgence, a small piece of cake or fruit filled turnover at every dinner. Niven was out with the sheep. He’d left before the dawn had broken to drive them to the highest grazing ground. Now that summer was here, they would stay high in the mountains for two months. He’d taken a young boy with him, eleven or twelve, too young by Alliance standards for real work, but here, the boy stayed with the sheep. They paid him in food and education, one less mouth for his impoverished family. This would be a good summer for the boy. Taurin had seen the child go to his knees for Caderyn the day he arrived. He’d flattened himself to the ground and started to beg.

“I already know. You don’t need to beg. Only listen to Niven, or I will be angry.” Caderyn had said nothing else. 

He hadn’t even looked at the boy the rest of the evening. The child had been fed sitting on the floor at the edge of the stove and bedded down for the night on a blanket in the kitchen. Taurin had heard the choked sobs. He had no idea from where the boy had traveled or the distance to his family, but from the muffled noise, he could imagine the boy was not going back and the boy knew it. Taurin had risen and moved silently to the door. In the light of the moon, he’d seen Caderyn keeping a silent vigil from his doorway.  His eyes had met Taurin’s, and he moved the two steps to Taurin’s doorway.

“He has a right to his tears. They aren’t mine yet.” Caderyn had touched Taurin’s face; his fingers stroked Taurin’s cheek. “Niven will spoil him tomorrow, feeding him jam and cakes and taking him swimming. It is not randomly cruel.”

Mastery can be cruel, Caderyn had told Taurin more than one, usually when he was being impossibly kind, listening to Taurin’s rambling and not directing him back on track. He’d never said why sitting and watching the clouds chase across the sky was cruel, but Taurin now knew. He hadn’t been directed or demanded or told to march here or there, all things that allowed the mind to slip into oblivion. He’d been left to get his own house in order. 

Caderyn’s feet sounded on the stone of the path, soft, steady, unhurried. He squinted at Taurin, partially from the sun, partially from the fact he was without his glasses. “It is time for you to go back.”

Taurin knew these words were coming. He knew that Caderyn was hoping that Taurin would say them himself. “I’m not bonded,” Taurin blurted out, the panic thick in his gut. A young master left his guardian master when he was bonded, when he took his final step into adulthood.

“You are pledged to another. I cannot bond you.”

“Eliot?” Taurin felt the shock as the name left his throat. Had he known since those green eyes had looked at him as Taurin struggled to sit up in that hospital room? 

“Yes, and he needs you. I have spoken to your first centurion. Two weeks ago the Third Centuria was caught under heavy fire. Eliot was captured. He is safe now, but his bond mate rescued him and there is confusion. Eliot needs you; his centuria needs you; the Unbreakables need you. Your service is owed to your master.”

“He is Calatis.” 

“You found him worthy, Taurin. His father or his grandfather are of little concern. He is a warrior, and you are a warrior. I am a peasant. Go to him. Give him your skills. He will give you his knowledge. Tamor will need her warriors again. We will not stay hidden behind the crags of our mountains forever.”

Taurin looked up at the mountains, his eyes studying the peaks that jutted into the sky. “I’m not ready. I belong here.” Taurin rubbed his hands down the wool of the traditional Tamorian pants. “I don’t want to go back.” Taurin knew he sounded like a child. His wants didn’t matter. He had duty.

“Do I need to beat you?” Caderyn’s voice sounded tired, far off. It wasn’t a threat, not the way an officer might threaten a disobeying soldier in the Unbreakables. It was an offer, a gift of clarity if Taurin couldn’t find it himself.

“I will go.”

Caderyn pulled Taurin’s head down and kissed his forehead. “Good boy. Siani has packed for you. Change back to your uniform, so you won’t be harassed outside our borders. Take care of him, Taurin. It is your duty,”

“Yes, Master.” Taurin dropped to one knee and kissed the hand of the man who had shielded him, who had returned him home.

“That is for Eliot.” Caderyn pulled Taurin to his feet. “Go. Do not make me tell you again.”

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot and Ronan encounter the enemy.

**Chapter 22**

Ronan watched the horizon change from pitch black to bloodstained copper. They were several miles away from Biltis, a small town in southern Shirak. Farther down, only a few hundred miles away was the Alliance border. Ronan wondered whether the people of the Alliance sleeping peacefully in their beds suspected how close the war had crept to them. 

He shifted, feeling his legs fall asleep from staying too long in a crouched position. The temporary base of the Unbreakables was still quiet. In minutes the men would rise and start getting ready for the impending combat. 

Ronan couldn’t sleep. It was rare for Ronan to have trouble sleeping. Unbreakables knew sleep was a luxury, but tonight Ronan had awakened long before dawn. There was a heavy feeling in his heart. If he were a believer he’d call it a premonition or some other fancy word. But Ronan knew it was nothing but his experience. He hadn’t survived sixteen years on the streets of Siri by being naive. The Unbreakables were a mobile strike force, not an armored cavalry unit or heavy infantry. Ronan had poured over all the records of previous Unbreakable missions. They suffered their worst losses on such missions. He knew it, his master knew it, every Unbreakable knew it. 

“Losing sleep right before combat.” Master’s voice startled Ronan. “Not the brightest of ideas.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Ronan came to his feet. He punched his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunched. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

Eliot said nothing. Ronan studied his master. Eliot looked tired and tense. Eliot walked past Ronan, staring off to where the infinite horizon was unfolding and disappearing into the darkness of the dying night. 

“You’re worried?” Ronan came to stand shoulder to shoulder with his master, leaning into him slightly, offering what little comfort he could.

“I’d be an idiot not to be.” Eliot said nothing more, gazing ahead for several minutes before turning to face Ronan. Eliot’s eyes burned into Ronan’s skull as he studied him. He reached and touched Ronan’s cheek gently, his thumb leaving a burning trail behind it. “I have nearly two centuriae under my command. I’m answerable for all of them.” Master sounded numb, as if his mind was miles away, yet his eyes focused on nothing else but Ronan. 

Ronan held Master’s eyes. He knew Eliot’s fears.He knew he could offer little reassurance. They were being sent as support for an infantry brigade tasked with delivering a sudden, decisive strike against the Kalmacian army. In less than an hour they would move. Master checked his watch, his mind probably making the same assessment as Ronan’s. 

“Allow me to come with you,” Ronan ventured, hoping against hope that Master would allow Ronan to have his back on the battlefield. 

High ranking officers of all the other forces remained in less dangerous, more protected sections. The Unbreakables were the only ones who didn’t follow that logic. They lived by the ancient code that dictated the leader was in the front of the troops. For them, leading the men still meant being at the forefront of the attack. Ronan felt sick to his stomach knowing Master was going to be in the most visible and dangerous spot of the offensive. 

“You’re in the first contubernium, covering sections two and three.” Eliot was the centurion again, his voice clear, his commends precise and invariable. Eliot turned away breaking that thread that to Ronan felt like a lifeline connecting them at times of danger.  

“Master--” Ronan didn’t get to finish. Eliot turned around abruptly, his green eyes shooting fire into Ronan.

 “Enough, soldier!”

“Yes, my centurion.” Ronan bent one knee and bowed his head in a formal acknowledgment of the hierarchy in the Unbreakables.  

 

The base was coming awake. The shuffle of feet, the bits of conversation and laughter carrying over the camp didn’t hint at death’s proximity.

“Get ready,” Eliot ordered, walking past Ronan. 

The centurion always did the last rounds. He made sure everyone knew their orders, checked that each of them were ready and equipped with all they needed, chatted with the youngest and least experienced in an attempt to ease their nerves. Ronan knew Eliot’s routine by heart. Ronan’s own fears could not be eased by anyone. Ronan didn’t fear death. He’d seen it, he’d lived it. He feared failing his master, and today he couldn’t be by Eliot’s side as his master again faced death. 

 

#

 

Ronan kept his eyes locked on Titus, waiting for the signal to jump. Ronan was the closest to the door. He’d made sure of that. He needed to be the first to touch the ground. Eliot was going to be several hundred feet ahead of Ronan and his contubernium’s landing zone. Ronan couldn’t do much to cover Master, but at least he could be the first to know the situation on the ground. 

“Ronan!” Titus made a motion with his hand that he was starting the count. 

Ronan nodded once.

“No heroics, boys. Be safe,” Titus bellowed.

Ronan hit the ground and looked around. Within seconds all the Unbreakables were on the ground and organizing to take their designated positions. 

“Where are the regulars?” 

Ronan turned around to look at Titus who was scanning the hills. He followed the man’s eyes, looking for the signs of advancing infantry. There were none. With his heart beating madly, Ronan searched for his master. Eliot was ahead of him. The centurion, together with his optio and the Third Contubernium were on the narrow pathway between two hills. A trap. Ronan’s mind didn’t manage to register the idea before Titus’s voice roared in his ear. 

“Snipers!” 

A rock at Ronan’s left exploded, splitting the silence of the early morning and announcing the start of chaos. 

“Move.”

Ronan grabbed Tertius, a boy only a year older than Ronan, who’d been sent to the First Contubernium two weeks ago. Ronan shoved him in the direction of the base of the hill, knowing full well it would provide little protection. It was still better than being complete sitting ducks in the middle of the small depression surrounded by high hills. They were under full-fledged fire that in seconds had cast its net over the entire area.

“Keep your head down and stay close,” Ronan told the kid, his eyes on Titus.

“Cover our flank. Move!” Titus shouted.

Ronan glanced to his right. The Second Contubernium was moving in the opposite direction. His own was expected to silence the snipers on this side of the hill. Ronan was desperate to see where Eliot was. It was impossible from where he was. Their best chance was getting to the snipers. As Ronan started to crawl upwards he heard the growl of approaching vehicles. He hoped it was their backup, not enemy reinforcements, but somehow he knew it was vain hope. 

The next several seconds were a cascade of movements and sounds, rational minds taking a backseat as they all operated on instincts ingrained into them through incessant training. Once on the top of the hill Ronan launched at the first body that sprang in front of him. Bullets were flying everywhere, their own mixed with that of the enemy. It was impossible to know who was shooting whom. Guns were nearly useless in such a situation, yet Ronan clung to his for dear life. Ronan spotted an enemy sniper. Ronan’s gun went off in a short line of fire before he even properly targeted the man. Tertius had his gun aimed at young soldier, who was on the ground, facing him, the man’s eyes wide and terrified in a pale face. Ronan shoved Tertius aside and pulled the trigger. 

“Are you freaking out of bullets?” He shoved Tertius angrily. “He is a target, not a person, not your friend. You hesitate once more and I’ll put the next bullet into your skull.”

“He didn’t have his gun.” The boy locked gazes with Ronan, his eyes filled with turmoil before they traveled to the ground where the abandoned rifle lay in the dirt.

“Your point is?” Ronan charged forward, passing Tertius without paying any more attention to him. He knew what everyone thought of him. They said Ronan was dead inside and maybe he was. At least he wasn’t running the risk of dying because he’d gotten stupid and decided to have moral dilemmas in the middle of a raging battle.

Ronan went forward in the direction of his master’s last known location. He heard Titus call for a medic. The man was crouched down by Fermini who fought to breathe through a splatter of blood and air. Ronan’s eyes continued to scan his surroundings, looking for new targets, but also searching for Eliot. 

Ronan’s heart hit the ground as he spotted Eliot below, nearly a mile ahead, trapped between the advancing Kalmacian troops and the sniper bullets from the positions ahead of the spot they’d just cleared. 

The advancing forces were heading straight for the officer corps, straight for Eliot. Ronan lost all ability for rational thought as he watched Eliot get hit by a bullet and go down onto his knees.

“Protect your centurion,” Drusus’s voice carried through their headphones and the few soldiers from the Third who were close enough tried to make a protective circle around Eliot. It was too late. The offensive line of the enemy was moving too fast and had already locked down onto their target. Drusus fell seconds later, together with two others. Ronan didn’t know what happened next as he was already running toward his master.

“Get back.” Titus pushed against Ronan chest. “We’re getting orders from Army Command to fall back.”

Ronan let out an inarticulate snarl and pushed against his commanding officer. “That’s our centurion!”

“Fall back,” Titus ordered, each word sharp and clear. “Don’t make me shoot you, solder!”

“Then you’d better do it right now because you’re standing between me and my master. That’s not a good spot to be.”

Titus hesitated only a second, his eyes darting to Eliot’s position for a short second before focusing on Ronan again. “Go get our centurion, boy. My headpiece is not working properly. I won’t hear the order to fall back for another five minutes. It should be enough time for us to cover your back. After that you’re on your own.”

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot and Ronan try to recover from the battle.

**Chapter 23**

Ronan sat leaning against the concrete wall, enjoying the coolness of the cold surface against his skin. Master was alive and safe. That was all that mattered. Master’s refusal to talk to Ronan had hurt. It took all Ronan had not to sprawl before Eliot’s hospital bed as Master looked at Ronan, stony faced and with vacant eyes. 

“Ronan.” Titus’s voice startled Ronan. “I thought I’d find you here.” 

It seemed his hiding place wasn’t a secret to anyone. Ronan picked up Cuddles who’d been winding around Ronan’s feet, rubbing her jet black fur against his shins. Ronan didn’t say anything as he brought the cat to his chest and rubbed his face against her head. 

Titus slid down and sat by Ronan’s side. “I told the centurion I authorized your little escapade.”

“You shouldn’t have. I would have done it no matter what.” It was the truth. He would do it again. Eliot was all that mattered. Ronan didn’t turn around, but he could feel Titus’s eyes on him.

“I know that, kid, but you’re mine, no matter whether you want it or not, and I’m going to have your back.”

“I’m not a kid.” Ronan hung his head down, mumbling the words that he’d gotten tired of repeating. 

Titus let out a short chortle. “Kid, I’m twice your age. You are a kid to me and you always will be. That doesn’t mean you’re not a damn good soldier and that I’m not proud to serve with you.”

Ronan jerked his head up to look at Titus. He studied the man, trying to see beyond the mask of grim blankness. 

Titus shook his head. “One of these days I’m going to make you believe we’re not all assholes who only see the blue of your eyes.”

Ronan shrugged and turned away. He didn’t care what they saw. Master had sent him away. He hadn’t wanted Ronan around. That was what had hurt for real, not the noise command made about following orders.

“He hurts. We lost men again. It’s never easy on a centurion,” Titus said, as if he had read Ronan’s mind. “For Eliot it’s a personal failure. He’s a proud man, kid. Needing to be rescued didn’t do any favors to his pride.”

Ronan let Cuddles go as the cat demanded to be put down. He crossed his hands over his chest and rested his head against the wall behind him. The sky was crystal blue, almost transparent. 

“The first centurion said he’ll take care of it. He’s not going to allow this to bite you in the ass.”

Ronan shrugged. He didn’t care what they did to him.  

“You could show a bit of gratefulness to the man.”

“He sent us into that death trap. I’m not grateful for that.”

“Careful, boy,” Titus was on his feet in a second, towering over Ronan. “You’re close to treason.”

Ronan sniggered and shook his head. It was a marvel these people thought he cared. Titus crouched before him. Not saying anything, just looking at Ronan, like he was a new interesting species of something. 

“The first centurion didn’t have a choice. You know that, Ronan.”

 “I don’t care. Why can no one understand that? I don’t care if he had a choice. I don’t care what excuses the regulars have, and I don’t care about your precious codes and rules.” Ronan held Titus’s eyes for a second before speaking again. “I’ll do it again if I have to. Master is all that matters.”

“It’s more than just a joke between the two of you, isn’t it?” Titus sat back, crossing his legs before him and folding his arms over his knees. “You calling him master?”

Ronan shrugged, looking elsewhere. Master wouldn’t want Ronan to talk about it. 

“Ok, whatever.” Titus stood up. “Stop brooding. He’ll eventually settle down. He won’t stay mad at you forever.”

Ronan nodded, not saying anything.

“He’s a stubborn bastard, but he will settle eventually. That stubbornness is both a curse and a blessing. Believe me, kid, I know. I’ve been on both sides of it.”

Ronan tilted his head to look at Titus once again, wanting to hear more.

Titus gave a bright smile, a rare treat on the man’s face.

“His very first mission was under my command. I was temporarily covering for the decanus of the Third Contubernium in the First Centuria. Two month in the Unbreakables and he walked around like he owned the place,” Titus said with a shake of his head, reaching down to pick up a small stone. “Nearly everyone in the centuria had tried their hand at making him run home and failed. They tried to break him, instead his hard head broke everyone else’s naive hopes that the noble brat was an easy target.” Titus threw the stone into the air and caught it with ease, not looking at it, his eyes fixed somewhere on the horizon. 

“That’s because they’re idiots,” Ronan mumbled. They had no hope against Master.

Titus grinned.“Yes, yes we know the sun rises and sets at his command.” He shook his head. “At least he sure thinks it does,” Titus went on. 

Ronan glared at Titus, but said nothing. 

“The thing with the centurion is that he also believes it makes him responsible for everyone around him. And when the bullets are raining on your head, you are damn glad for the arrogant bastard determined to save you who thinks he can command the stars and the moon” 

Titus tossed the small rock into the dust and turned his head to look at Ronan.

“Kid, his mulish pigheadedness drove me insane and I hated him for his arrogance. But that was until this.” Titus pulled at his collar, revealing the scar Ronan had seen many times. The ugly bud of mauled flesh over his right pectoral. “Sucking chest wound. I was as good as dead. Eliot, even though he was at the very bottom of the hierarchy, took command before I managed to fully hit the ground. His quick reaction, or maybe even his inbred certainty that he was born to lead, saved us all. And then he looked at me and snarled that I was going to live. That on his first mission he wasn’t going to take his decanus home in a casket. I could practically hear how he proclaimed--peasant, you shall live, for I command you.”

Titus laughed softly under his breath as he spoke the words and Ronan returned it with a small grin. 

“I was dying when he found me,” Ronan admitted softly. “I was sure I was already dead and then there he was.”

“Ordering you to live?” Titus asked in an amused tone.

Ronan nodded.“All the demons of the underworld couldn’t have managed to keep me down there. I lived because he ordered me.”

“He has that effect on people.” Titus fell silent again, as if thinking about something.“Do you know that Drusus was to become our centurion?”

Ronan tensed. Drusus had been the head of the Primi before Eliot. Usually the head of the Primi was earmarked for centurion, everyone knew that. But Lucius had decided to promote Eliot over Drusus. 

“Relax, soldier,” Titus let out in an easy drawl. “He knew he wasn’t going to. He told me as much the day he assumed the position of optio in the Third. Everyone thought it was a step closer to the falcon. But he told me the noble bastard was going to wear the falcon, not him. And you know what else he told me?”

 Ronan clenched his jaw to keep silent. Drusus had been close to Titus. The decanus would hardly appreciate his dead friend being slandered. Besides, he shouldn’t be badmouthing the man who died protecting his master. 

“He told me Eliot deserved it. Eliot had served under his command for two months and Drusus told me, when the time came, he would be proud to serve under his command and to die for him.” Titus’s voice trailed off at the last words.

“I’m sorry,” Ronan muttered, “about Drusus.”

“Him and everyone else.” Titus took a deep breath and stood up. “Our last day always breathes down our necks. This is the life we chose. He served well,” Titus muttered the parting words of an Unbreakable. 

Drusus said he’d die for Eliot and he did. Ronan was there. The man didn’t hesitate for a second. He had shielded Eliot with his body. If not for Drusus, no Ronan didn’t want to think about it.

“Come, spend some times with us in the barracks,” Titus said after a moment of studying the darkening sky.

Eliot would be pleased if Ronan spent time with the men. Ronan didn’t want to go anywhere, but he stood up and followed Titus. 

 

***

 

Eliot stared through the small window opposite his bed in the medical quarters. The sky was slowly darkening, the bright blue giving way to grayish hues. Night was approaching. Eliot felt like his head was stuffed with cotton. He couldn’t think; he couldn’t concentrate. Everything he looked at lost its shape and started to dance. He felt helpless and weak. 

The day had passed as if were a collection of jumbled images in a dream. He remembered Lucius, Aquilla and another half a dozen men coming and going. He remembered Ronan. Eliot pushed his face into his palms. Ronan. It felt like it was the only thought that rang crystal clear in his mind. Ronan who had gone back for Eliot despite impossible odds, who had carried him for days through enemy territory and a lifeless desert. He had disregarded a direct order, and now there was noise of court-martial. Eliot banged his feet into the bed. Anyone else would have been commended for his skill and bravery, but Ronan had blue eyes. That made all the difference. The bigoted vultures were all too happy to use this as an excuse to purge the Unbreakables of the blue-eyed Shiraki. Lucius had promised to protect him. Lucius was going to fight for Ronan while Eliot lay in a hospital bed--helpless, useless. It was becoming a theme. He had lain helpless as his men had been murdered and now this. He kicked the covers off his feet, and his body instantly protested the treatment, sharp pain shooting through his spine, right into his brain. 

Eliot turned his head and studied the white wall. Why were the walls in hospitals white? That color could drive anyone crazy. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to see the images he knew were waiting to spring to life. The white walls were a blank canvas for his memories, a film that never stopped in his brain. 

Eliot shook his head, chasing away the unwanted memories, and struggled to sit up. He had spent enough time lying down. He’d been s told that he had spent nearly two days in and out of consciousness, his body weakened beyond endurance by blood loss and dehydration. He was still extremely weak. He stretched out his hands, nearly growling with disgust at the tremor that he couldn’t stop or control. Every movement felt like it required inhuman strength and endurance. 

Eliot had managed to keep his eyes open while Lucius visited, but it had been a struggle to follow the conversation. All Eliot was able to feel and think of was the anger that burned through him. 

Finally he succeeded in summoning enough strength to sit up. He pulled at the IV line, disconnecting it from his hand. A small red dot blossomed on his skin, the color making him dizzy. Eliot looked away. His throat constricted with indecipherable emotions blocking his airway. His eyes burnt with unshed tears. Drusus’s image flashed before his mind’s eyes, the same bright red exploding on his chest, starting as a bright red dot then spreading around like cancerous cells heralding death. He had put himself between Eliot and the enemy’s guns, his eyes never left Eliot as he drew his last breath. 

A strange sound splintered the silence of the room, a whine of a dying animal. He realized with a startle that it had escaped his throat. He needed to get out of here. He didn’t know where, anywhere, just not here, not where the white walls looked at him with the dead eyes of his friends, not where Ronan had looked at him like Eliot had broken his heart because Eliot hadn’t been able to tell him he wasn’t angry with him, not where Lucius had sat smiling gently, his voice trembling with emotion and where Aquilla had looked so relieved to have Eliot back. 

He struggled to get to his feet, but the second he managed it the dizziness hit him like a tidal wave and he nearly collapse back onto the bed.

“Centurion, what do you think you’re doing?” The doctor’s voice boomed from the doorway. 

Darkness spread before his eyes swallowing the surroundings. ‘Centurion’ the word echoed in his mind, a whisper of a dying man as Casius looked at Eliot life bleeding from him, eyes turning into lifeless marbles. 

Eliot choked on the very air he was trying to exhale. His vision cleared, but all was swimming now in tears that he refused to let fall. 

“Don’t call me that,” he said, his voice sounding pathetic to his ears--weak, defeated, like he had been--defeated and useless. He managed to turn around and collapsed back onto his bed.

“Are you trying to finish what the enemy started?” the doctor asked. “Killing yourself isn’t going to bring your men home, Centurion.”

“And why was it more important for me to make it back? Why should I live and they die?”

“It’s not your fault that you’ve survived,” the doctor connected the line back to Eliot’s hand and raised his eyes to look at Eliot. “You know that, Eliot.”

Eliot let out a dry laugh. 

“I didn’t survive. My men died so I could live. I lived long enough for Ronan to save me and now someone needs to save him from the very ignorant office rats who got us into that death trap.”

“Centurion.” The doctor came to sit on the bed by Eliot’s side. Eliot hated the kindness in his voice. “You can’t blame yourself for not dying.”

“I’m not blaming myself,” Eliot retorted with heat. “I just don’t see why I had more right to live than them.” His voice broke, and he fought to keep it level. “It’s a common theme, isn’t it? The Calatis gets it all.”

“They didn’t die to shield you because you were a Calatis. They died to shield their centurion!”

“How is that different? Who cares why? The result is the same, I get more than my fair share and others ....” Eliot shook his head and fell silent. “I got hit. I lay there, a useless fool, while my men tried to save me. I was a useless log, as Ronan carried me across the desert. And now Ronan is facing court-martial, and some idiot is probably already writing an article about the heroic Calatis who miraculously escaped sure death and came back from enemy lines. Another idiot will probably even propose me for decoration. That’s what I get for being incompetent fool – praise and accolades.”

“Eliot, I’ve done this long enough, I know what the war does to a man.”

“No,” Eliot interrupted him. “No, not war. War is an ugly, cruel bitch, but at least it doesn’t discriminate. Our peaceful and supposedly civilized society is far worse, Doc. Ronan is a hero and look what it got him. How am I going to pay this kind of debt?” Eliot looked at the man as if he could find in his eyes the answers to the question that kept eating his soul.

“I’m sure Ronan doesn’t think you owe him anything.”

Eliot shook his head, “Of course he doesn’t. It’s Ronan!” He didn’t say anymore. He wouldn’t discuss Ronan with others, not even if he had the words for it and right now he didn’t. He’d seen something on that battlefield, something that he wasn’t entirely sure was not part hallucination. “I meant the others,” he continued chasing away the confusing thoughts. “They died so I could live. I need to make it count. I owe them to live when they didn’t, to make the difference that they didn’t manage to make. How am I going to do it?”

It was a question addressed more to himself; he didn’t expect the doctor to have an answer. 

“You are a centurion. You will make their sacrifice worth it.” The doctor rose to his feet and with a squeeze to Eliot’s shoulder and an order to rest he exited the room, leaving Eliot alone with his thoughts.

Eliot didn’t say anything, he just stared into the growing darkness. He would have to find a way to pay this debt. He didn’t know how, but he would. He would be worthy of those men’s sacrifice. He would be worthy of Ronan’s strength. 

Eliot’s mind flashed to the battlefield. He was never going to forget it. He was never going to forget what he had seen that day. Maybe he had hallucinated half of it, but even if only parts were true it was still incredible. Ronan was always impressive on the battlefield, but that day he had been beyond anything a mere mortal could ever be. Eliot wasn’t so far gone as not to understand. He had been half unconscious and probably delirious, but he could swear he had seen the power of the immortal gods he never believed in pouring through Ronan. Ronan’s strength had saved him in more ways than shielding him from gunfire and dragging him across enemy territory. He was going to make sure Ronan received his fair share. 

 

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taurin returns from Tamor.

**Chapter 24**

Taurin was struck by the heat of the base. It should be familiar to him now, the fierceness of the high desert sun, the scorching sand and dust, the light that made everyone squint, but three months in Tamor, and he’d almost forgotten the misery of their base in high summer. He crossed the quadratum to the Third Centuria’s barracks. A few soldiers were exercising or merely sitting for a few minutes in the shade of the porticos, but midday in the hot months, most of the men were inside unless training or being acclimatized to the brutal heat. 

In his own barracks, a group loitered under the portico, smoking and tossing butts in the dead flowers that some civilian service organization had planted. They were dead, leaving planters with the skeletons of marigold stems and withered leaves. The men started to come to attention. Taurin barked, “at ease,” before they’d made it all the way to their feet. Three of these men he knew, and he searched their faces for a hint of his own fate as well as the fate of the centuria. The fourth was new; the brightness of his shoulder patch suggested he’d just come out of the cubs. 

Unbreakables were stoic men, trained to endure suffering, and these men, like all the others, showed little on their faces. Maybe they looked tired, more haggard than usual. Renatus from the Fourth Contubernium, leaned back against the pillar and lit a fresh cigarette. His hand jerked as he shoved the lighter back in his pocket, and he dragged the smoke into his lungs in a long and desperate breath.

“How many?”

“Seven from us and two from the First when they came to cover the retreat. Three officers in the bunch. We thought we’d lost our centurion.” Renatus took another long drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out on the wall with a vicious stab and tossing it into the planter. “You’re back. You’ll run the shit out of us.” He coughed, hacked, and spat into the dust. “My lungs are going to kill me for this.”

Taurin smiled slightly. It probably wasn’t an expression they were used to. He’d never been at ease with these men. His own in the snipers were easier. These were still distant, half strangers, but these were his, and Renatus’s pissing and moaning spoke of a fondness and a respect that somehow Taurin hadn’t seen.

“Three months in the high mountains. You’ll all be puking in the morning. Pick up your butt.”

“Our lieutenant went to nature camp,” Phocas said, grabbing Renatus’s spent cigarette and putting it into the trash bucket. “Are we going to learn the names of all the plants and rake the grass into pretty patterns?”

“I don’t see much grass. Are you interested in planting some?”

Phocas could be insolent, a big man who was too fond of brawling after a few beers not to be well known by the officers. He, like so many of the Unbreakables, was from the slums of the cities—poor, maybe in some ways even poorer than Taurin’s people. If he survived the twenty-five years, he’d have more prosperity than most of his childhood neighbors could imagine without dealing drugs or winning the lottery.

“Not really, sir.” Phocas straightened his shoulders, not coming to attention, but aware of the threat that had hidden under the surface of Taurin’s words.

“Nikon one of those seven?” Taurin asked softly, suddenly aware of why this little group had looked off to him. Phocas was always with Nikon. They’d joined the army together and then the Unbreakables. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Shit!” Tamor had formalized rituals for sharing grief, and Eliot was good when his men were hurting. It was something that Taurin never did well. He had no shared cultural milestones with these men. He couldn’t reminisce over football championships or favorite foods. Words that spoke of gods and Tamorian history and pride were hardly appropriate. Shit was all he could think of.

“Every one of them was shit for someone.” Phocas punched his fist into the rail. “We’ll get those bastards. Fuck-ups in intelligence. We should never have been there. They knew we were coming.” Phocas turned away, his eyes drifting to the quadratum. “You know he kind of hated you, sir. Thought you were a hard ass with a surgically dissected sense of humor.”

“I think he thought that about all the officers, and I’m the most junior,” Taurin said with a shrug. “I’m the one who tells you not to put cigarettes in the flowers.”

“That hasn’t been a flower for a century,” Renatus chimed in, bumping Phocas’s shoulder in an attempt at distracting good humor.

“Water might have helped.”

“Who has time for gardening?” Renatus reached down and plucked out a dried stem. “This is no flower.”

“Not now,” Taurin said, ignoring the belligerence that was creeping into Renatus’s voice. These men were hurting. They could vent at him and the dead flowers. “Phocas, I’m sorry.” Those words were beyond inadequate, but it was all he could say. He swung his pack back on his shoulder and moved toward the door.

“Thank you, sir.” Phocas’s voice was soft. He turned away from Taurin as if embarrassed to be seen mourning.

Taurin folded his hand into a fist and bumped Phocas’s shoulder in passing. He heard the words as he entered the barracks.

“He’s actually human, who ever would have thought.”

The barracks were blissfully cool compared to outside. The thick stucco walls held in the night coolness and kept out the summer sun. A fan oscillated in a far window and sent a weak breeze down the corridor. Taurin dumped his bag in the room he shared with Eliot’s third. Sisera’s collection of pornographic paperbacks was still on the one wobbly shelf, and the baseball he’d snagged in the stands as a boy watching his hometown team win the pennant was on the dresser. He must have made it. Young officers’ lifespans were notoriously short. Six months could be several lifetimes as an Unbreakable lieutenant. Taurin as head of the snipers deployed protected by cover and silent infiltration, risky, but less risky than Sisera’s duty which was to lead the assault team.

Taurin straightened his collar and glanced down at his polished belt buckle. Old habits died hard. Four years of any excuse for harassment, and he was meticulous about his uniform before seeing a commanding officer. 

Eliot was in his office hunched over his desk, the frown lines bold on his forehead. His door stood open which meant anyone could go in. Taurin entered and stood at attention in front of the battered desk. As usual it was overloaded with paper and the one leg that was two inches shorter than the others was propped on a paperback book.

“Sit down, Taurin,” Eliot waved his hand and continued to write with strokes that almost tore the paper with their ferocity. Eliot crashed his pen to the surface of the desk and slid his chair back. His green eyes swept over Taurin. “You look rested.”

“Mountain air, sir.”

Eliot leaned forward, his attention entirely focused on Taurin. “Did it help?” he asked after a minute of staring.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Eliot grunted. 

“Sir,” Taurin said as Eliot’s attention shifted back to the pile of papers. The mind that had been focused on Taurin was now elsewhere, and the lines across Eliot’s forehead were deep furrows again. His jaw clenched shut, the muscles bunched into knots. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You’re doubling up as my third and head of the sniper team. Sisera can brief you,” Eliot said, still distracted by something on his desk.

“Sir, do you want me to deal with some of this paper?” Taurin waved his hand at the stack of reports.

“Ronan can file.”

Taurin wasn’t the only man in the centuria aware that Ronan detested filing and that such chores were used as punishment. Taurin wanted to question. He’d seen the glossy covers of the weekly news magazines at the airport—Eliot with his silver falcon clear on his shoulder and his rifle in his hand. He was the hero of the day: encircled, captured, and still able to escape. A week behind enemy lines one title had screamed across the page. The centuria had taken losses. Casualties always weighed heavily on Eliot, but there was something else; the anger was too close to the bursting point.

“Are you sure, sir?”

“If I wanted a Tamorian filing clerk, I’d have sent you to secretarial school. Ronan deserves it. He can do it.”

“What did he do, sir?” Taurin should shut up. Eliot’s words had been final, but maybe it was Caderyn’s latent presence, his refusal to turn down the easier path until Taurin lost all control of his secrets that pushed Taurin forward.

“Saved my ass.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad thing, sir.”

“What is it with my men disobeying orders? You’re dismissed, Lieutenant. Report to Sisera. I have work to do.”

Taurin started to turn. He should leave; the orders had been clear, but Caderyn’s persistence was too strong in his mind. He had a duty to Eliot. He couldn’t just walk away.

“I only saw the headlines, but Ronan disobeyed orders and came after you, didn’t he? He had to Eliot. You need to understand that. He’s like me.”

“Two soldiers who can’t obey the simplest of orders,” Eliot said, the sarcasm thick in his voice.

“He submits to the duty of the bond. You must understand that. You must know that. He calls you master.”

“That’s a joke between us.”

“No, it’s not.” Taurin paused. He was saying far more than he should. He could read Eliot’s reactions, the flames of anger in his eyes, the hands that tightened on the desk surface. The man still had a bruise on his right temple and the remnants of a black eye. He’d been beaten, probably more than once. He had every reason to be angry, and Taurin continued to drop fire down the volcano’s mouth. “Not for Ronan. Not for you. He had to go after you. You are his other half. To be split is to cleave a piece out of himself, to cut off onearm or one leg, to gouge out aa eye.”

“I don’t need an anatomy lesson.”

“I thought I was the filing clerk, not the science teacher. I’ve moved up in the world,” Taurin responded before he could even think. He’d seen Alliance men joke with each other this way. Ronan tossed snark all day long and Eliot liked it. Taurin usually said only necessary words.

The anger dissipated off Eliot’s face as fast as it had gathered. He stared at Taurin for a second before he grinned and shook his head. “What happened to you? Did they send the right officer back to me, or are you a perfect impostor?”

“Sir?”

“You just told me to get off my pinnacle of noble outrage by making a joke. You can be an obstinate ass, but you don’t joke.”

“Sir,” Taurin hesitated. “I’ve seen Centurion Aquilla do it,” he plunged on. “It always seems to help. My service is owed to you. Did it help?”

“Getting told I’m being a self-absorbed ass? Yes.” Eliot looked up, pushing his papers around on his desk in unconscious fiddling. He was studying Taurin, searching the man who stood in front of him. “You’ve changed.”

“Master Caderyn is powerful. He was pointed in his approach. He reminded me of my duties to serve my centurion,” Taurin edited. He’d started to say master, but that was more than he could explain to Eliot.

“What of Tamor?” Eliot ran his hand over his hair, a gesture of exhaustion and exasperation that he usually kept hidden. “I thought you wouldn’t be back.”

Taurin dropped his eyes as he felt the blush of shame flood his face. “Honor is important to our traditions. I gave my word when I took the beret.”

“You were half dead. I’d find you an out if you wanted it. Gods know if I can ask you to serve after what was done to you.”

“They didn’t win. I will not give them the victory now,” Taurin said through tight lips. “I am your soldier, an Unbreakable. These are my men, my brothers. I’ve made my choice.”

“We need you,” Eliot said with a sigh. “The doctor’s screaming that I’m out of bed. Our officer corps is shredded. I lost my optio and my fourth.” Eliot looked away, fighting to contain his emotions. Sisera is my new optio. Alerio is in the hospital with a shattered hip. He won’t be back for months. Dargo is now head of the Fifth Contubernium, and I can’t keep track of what Aquilla and Lucius did. Suffice it say our officers were targeted specifically. Somehow they knew.”

“You were their prize, Centurion—a captured centurion, a blue blooded noble to parade around in their show trials and accuse of barbecuing babies on a spit and serving them at fancy dinner parties. You’re a hero. Ronan’s a hero.”

“I didn’t do anything but end up tied up inside a truck with a bag on my head. Ronan’s the hero, not that you’d ever know. He’s the one who saved my ass. Disobeyed all kinds of orders to do it.” Eliot tossed the same magazine with his face on the cover that Taurin had seen in the airport across the desk. “I’m the glorious hero. The centurion from the First Families. I’m an incompetent with soldiers who can’t obey my orders. Shit!” Eliot rolled the magazine in his hand before dumping it back on his desk and smacking it with his palm. “A baboon could’ve done better. Some fool will probably even give me a medal for this.”

“Probably.”

“A medal for getting captured and not teaching my men to obey. You chase after babies, and Ronan runs riot.”

“He saved his master. His life is forfeit to his master.”

“Taurin,” Eliot pushed himself up from the desk, grimacing at the pain from the sudden movement. “How can you even think that, let alone say it aloud? All they see is your sandy hair. He’s no less a person because he has blue eyes. His life is valuable. He is not worthless.” 

Taurin touched his sandy hair. He’d had Caderyn cut it before he left, so it was back to regulation length. “I see because of my hair and my eyes, because I was born of the mountains. Ronan is your bond mate. You are one. It is one of our most important beliefs; the union is sacrosanct. All that is you is his, and all that is he is yours. Eliot, he had to go after you. I know it’s a violation of military discipline. Ronan knows that. He’ll take punishment for it if you want, but he’ll do it again. He’ll always do it. You’ll do the same.”

Taurin walked over and pretended to study the map that hung on the wall. The lines of troop movements had been changed many times, and now it was a tangled mass of half-erased scribbles.

“The Unbreakables talk about shield mates and brothers, but for you and Ronan it’s more than that. It is the bond, our union between the holder of the fire and the sword plunged into the snow that runs red with the blood of our enemies. Ronan is your pledged mate, the one who serves at your feet and at your will. You are the lord, such is your destiny, and you cannot change it. Both of your strengths come from it and together it is forged into the power of our legendary warriors.”

Taurin stopped. He could tell from Eliot’s expression that the man was considering Taurin to be psychotic and deluded. He was going to launch into another one of his lectures about how he wouldn’t interfere with Taurin’s beliefs and the needs to protect the indigenous people’s rights.

Taurin shook his head and gave Eliot a wry smile. “I just came back from Tamor, sir.”

“I can tell,” Eliot said dryly. “Now get out of here and get to work. You’re no longer on a mountain vacation.”

Taurin saluted, snapping his heels together and letting a slight smile play on his lips. Perfect soldier boy wasn’t his identity and Eliot knew it. He might smile at Taurin’s antics, or at least stop looking so drained for a moment. Taurin had only added to his centurion’s burden; now it was time to lessen it.

Taurin walked across the quadratum, squinting at the fierce sun and wishing for the warming and loved sun of Tamor instead of this beast. He should have gone to Sisera and tried to figure out his duties as Eliot’s new third, but he wanted to talk to Ronan, and Ronan was most likely behind the mess hall if he was in his master’s disfavor. Taurin had never let on that he knew Ronan’s habits enough to know he kept a motley menagerie of animals half hidden in the storage sheds and fed from leftovers. He’d be here commiserating with a chipmunk or a pigeon with a broken wing.

“Ronan,” Taurin called as he stepped around the corner and some small fury creature skittered away.

“Taurin,” Ronan snarled, shoving his hands in his pockets and assuming an air of disinterested anger. “You, the one who abandons everybody for a baby, come to lecture me on my duty also? Because I’ve had it up to here.” Ronan jerked a hand from his pocket and traced a line on his forehead.

“No, the opposite.”

“Yeah, right.” Ronan kicked a stray piece of trash with his foot. “What about the chain of command and all that? Aquilla and Lucius wanted to murder me.”

“I doubt it. They were probably glad to have Eliot back, and they aren’t Tamorian.”

“More of that Tamorian shit?” Ronan jeered. “You’re an Unbreakable, you’re Eliot’s.”

“I know,” Taurin said, trying to keep the same soft tone that Caderyn had used. The master had been excellent at this, diffusing Taurin with gentleness and surprising revelations. “Eliot has my loyalty.”

“Lucius was livid about the baby stunt.”

“I’m sure he was. Eliot, as master, had the right to defend me. I can’t change that, Ronan. I can only accept and be grateful.”

“You could try not to flirt from one disaster to the next.”

“The same could be said about you,” Taurin said with a slight twist of his lips into a faint smile.

“I was saving him. He is all that matters.”

“I wasn’t arguing that point.” Taurin stepped forward and squatted in front of Ronan, looking up at the scowl and defensive blue eyes. “You had to rescue Eliot. You had no choice. The bond and the Blessing allow no other way.”

“Blessing shit! Your religion is cock-assed stupid. Any gods kicked the bucket centuries ago, horrified at fucked-up man.”

“Eliot is master. You could not leave him. I understand, Ronan, and I told him the same. We cannot escape. It is our nature.” Taurin stood up and walked away. He wasn’t Caderyn; he couldn’t weave magic with his words. He probably hadn’t even helped.

“Taurin, sir.”

Taurin turned around at the words. Ronan wasn’t looking at him, his gaze focused on the peeling paint of the back of the mess hall and the overflowing trashcans. 

“I’m trying.” 

“I know, Ronan. It’s the same for me. Ronan, you’re Blessed. It’s not a curse. I know it can feel like it sometimes, but it’s a gift. Cherish it.”

 

 

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot discovers the reality of his world.

**Chapter 25**

 

It had been almost three weeks since Eliot’s return. Three weeks in which Eliot had all the time in the world to replay second by second everything that had happened since they landed on that cursed battlefield. No matter how many times he played it in his head it never made sense. Nothing did, nor the loss of his men, nor the utter injustice of his own impending decoration. Eliot was angry and nothing seemed to calm his rage. 

“Eliot sit,” the first centurion ordered, walking into the office where Eliot waited. 

Eliot pushed himself off the windowsill where he’d been leaning, his eyes lingering for another second on the setting sun. 

“Sir!” Eliot turned around, facing his commanding officer. He knew perfectly well why he was here. He’d been protesting too loudly and it had offended the wrong people. 

Eliot had made it clear to everyone that he had no intention of attending the charade of his decoration or keeping quiet about who the real hero was. His protests had apparently displeased important people because his grandfather had called Eliot several times. Eliot hadn’t responded, but he was sure that if someone had the clout to complain to Lord Calatis, they had access to Lucius also. 

The first centurion looked at Eliot, his dark eyes turning pointedly in the direction of the empty chair.“I can always beat you first, if you prefer.” 

Eliot took his seat and crossed his hands over his chest, looking at the first centurion with a challenge in his eyes. The realization of the childishness of his behavior caught up with him and he shifted his eyes to the corner of the room, losing the scowl.He felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment. 

“Better.” Lucius kept his eyes on Eliot, studying him. “Can we go on without any more teenage dramatics?”

Eliot winced, acknowledging the truth in the first centurion’s words. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” The first centurion paused, his appraising eyes never leaving Eliot. “Do you regret joining us?” Lucius’s voice was soft, nearly a whisper, but it thundered in Eliot’s brain, making him almost jump from his seat.

“No, sir. Of course not! I am loyal to the Unbreakables. I know I’ve made mistakes,” Eliot admitted through gritted teeth.He’d lost men again. Not technically his fault, he knew that; he’d been told that enough times. But Eliot wanted to believe he was better. He was supposed to be capable of the impossible. Instead he had lain there half unconscious as the enemy gunned down his men. Men he had sworn to protect. 

“Stop. It wasn’t your mistake that decimated us. If you want someone to blame, blame me. I signed off on that damned mission.”

Eliot shook his head. “We all knew it wasn’t the best idea; you tried to stop it.”

Lucius nodded. “Yes, I did. And you did what you could to bring your men home. Eliot we are soldiers. We go where we’re ordered whether we agree with the orders or not and then we do our best to survive. It’s that simple.”

Eliot turned his head toward the window, unwilling to lock gazes with the first centurion. Lucius couldn’t have stopped it, but Eliot could have. He’d known deploying the Unbreakables to Biltis was a bad idea; they all knew it. The fuckup with the regulars not showing up on time was just the icing on a cake of disasters. The mission had demanded heavy infantry, not a handful of light and mobile Unbreakables. Eliot could have pulled strings so that the Unbreakables weren’t sent on a mission that was domed from the beginning. 

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” Lucius went on, not waiting for Eliot to say anything. “I asked you whether you were unhappy with your choice because, Eliot, you keep running back to your noble origins.”

Eliot’s eyes shot up to Lucius’s face. The first centurion shook his head, indicating he wanted Eliot to listen, not talk. 

“Even now, just now”--he pointed at Eliot--“you were thinking how you could’ve used your connections to have prevented the deployment. A couple hours ago, you threatened to use the same influence to get your way about Ronan’s decoration.”

“Ronan deserves to be decorated. He is the real hero!” 

“Ronan disobeyed a direct order to retreat.” Lucius stood up, slapping his hand on the surface of the desk.

“He did it to save me.” Eliot shot to his feet. “We don’t leave men behind! Isn’t that the Unbreakable motto?”

“Unbreakables obey,” the first centurion spoke in that slow, unmoving tone that made even the noisiest of groups stop and pay attention.

“The order to retreat would never have been given if an Unbreakable office had been the one giving the orders,” Eliot snapped back, his hot temper in sharp contrast with Lucius’s calmness. Eliot wasn’t going to be a hypocrite and pretend he gave a rat’s ass about the orders of incompetent army command. He wasn’t going to condemn Ronan for disobeying orders from people whose incompetence effectively killed his men. Right now he might not know how to deal with Ronan, but he was going to protect that boy, just as Ronan had protected him. 

“Don’t you growl at me. The only reason I haven’t taken the weighted whip to that boy is because the order to retreat came from an incompetent buffoon.” Lucius matched Eliot’s stance, chin jutted forward, eyes hard and uncompromising.“Never the less it was an order and meant to be obeyed. I protect my men, and I’ll protect Ronan as much as I can. That’s why he got away with only a warning in his file.”

“And I get decorated for being the fool who got captured and then rescued by an insubordinate soldier. Some hero.”

“It is what it is, Eliot. Accept it.” Lucius sank back into the chair, his body relaxed, no more the taught pack of muscles ready for a fight. 

“No.” Eliot smacked his hand down. “How can you ask of me to accept such injustice? We are the Unbreakables. We are supposed to be the counterweight of civilian political power and the corruption that comes with it.”

“We are not immune to corruption, boy.” Lucius leaned forward. “That is why I’m asking you again. Are you regretting your choice, Eliot?”

“No!” Eliot snarled. “You shouldn’t need to ask me!”

“I shouldn’t,” Lucius responded in his calm tone. “Yet you force me to. Eliot, you keep telling me how you want to leave your name and your family behind. You tell me you want to be an Unbreakable, yet every time things don’t go to your way, you run back to the influence of your name.” Lucius fell silent, his dark eyes never leaving Eliot.“You can’t be both, my boy. We are the balancing power of this country, and I’m not going to hand it over to a Calatis. No matter how much I want to see you as first centurion, it’s not going to happen if you’re still the son of the Calatis family.”

“I’m not. You know I renounced my right to the title.”

“I also know your grandfather made sure you could claim it back whenever you want,” Lucius counterattacked. “It can’t be only a declaration, Eliot. I need to see that you belong to us. I need to be sure your first route of action is not that of a Calatis.”

“Why not use the influence I have? An Unbreakable uses all his strengths; everything is a weapon to an Unbreakable. My name is a weapon. Why not use it?” 

“Because it’s too much power for one man. Once you become first centurion, together with the Calatis title it would give you unparalleled power. I can’t have that power vested in one person.”

“I don’t have my title.”

“You could have it,” Lucius countered. “As long as you run to your family name to solve every problem, to satisfy every issue that brings you displeasure, you are a Calatis and I can’t be sure you will not claim the title.”

“I don’t want the title.” Eliot sat back down. “I want this,” he said in a soft voice. “I want what I can build myself, not what others built.”

“And that’s the reason I like you.” Lucius also fell back into his seat. “But you need to show me that Calatis is your past and first centurion will be your future.”

Eliot nodded, not saying anything. 

“Eliot, the Unbreakables are not an easy path. I know that and by now you know that too.”

“It’s the only path I want.” 

“Good. You’re made for it. But you need to make a choice,” Lucius continued. “There is a reason for the social isolation of the Unbreakables. We are trained to a fault. We are trained to be dangerous and lethal. We are praised for it, but we are also feared. We are not nice or civilized. We are savages.” Lucius’s voice was soft, almost comforting. “How long do you think it will take for a disaster to strike if we interact with others on a daily basis?”

“Our violence is controlled.”

“It is controlled as long as we are among ourselves. How long do you think I can control the men among the weak who believe they are strong because they can lie and cheat better than their neighbor, men who know nothing of loyalty or honor?”

Eliot looked at the first centurion, trying to figure out where the conversation was heading. 

“I can’t have a first centurion who is Calatis because the fear of the Unbreakables is the only thing that keeps the powerful in check.” Lucius paused, as if giving Eliot a moment to digest his words.“But equally I can’t have a Calatis who has the skills and savagery of an Unbreakable. Eliot, there is no turning back for you. Society will not have you, but most importantly I cannot allow you to return to it.”

“My place is here,” Eliot insisted. 

“Then remember that. We will not have this conversation again. I’ve told you once your name and the influence that comes with it belongs to me. I decide how to use it.”

“You never use it,” Eliot complained under his breath. 

“And I just told you why.” Lucius crossed his hands over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “I can’t trust anyone with such power. It’s better left alone.”

“But, haven’t you ever wondered… Of all the good we could do together? The Unbreakables—“

“We are soldiers,” Lucius interrupted, “not politicians. As I’ve said, better left alone.”

Eliot didn’t agree, but he remained silent, his brain whirring almost audibly in his own ears. The Unbreakables were the counterweight to the corrupt and greedy. Their power should not be kept behind artificial walls. 

“Eliot,” Lucius’s voice was filled with warning, as if the man knew what Eliot was thinking. “This is what I meant about choosing. Being an Unbreakable means accepting that you are a soldier. If you wanted to be the one crafting this country’s future you should have followed your grandfather’s path for you and become a Senator.”

Eliot snorted. They wouldn’t have welcomed Eliot to the Senate once they realized the nature of his politic and his ideals. 

“The power vested in the Unbreakables has never been a political one. It is a mechanism to ensure the political power never forgets its promises to the people. It isn’t there for us to implement our vision of the Alliance.”

Eliot said nothing. His thoughts didn’t match his first centurion’s, but for now they would remain his own.

“Dismissed, Centurion,” Lucius said, coming to his feet. 

Eliot stood, ready to leave, when Lucius spoke again. 

“We will not have this conversation again.” Lucius’s voice was rough, tired even. “I cannot allow it, Eliot. I will die protecting this country and the Unbreakables.”

Eliot looked at the first centurion, noticing the pain and exhaustion in Lucius’s eyes. In his own pain and confusion Eliot had been blind to the pain of his first centurion. Such blindness was unworthy of an Unbreakable centurion. 

“I know your family can get you out of the Unbreakables, but I can’t allow it. Don’t force me to make that choice.”The words were almost broken, eyes tired beyond physical exhaustion. 

Eliot understood. The next choice was a bullet between the eyes. Eliot didn’t fear death, but he owed his loyalty to the first centurion. He respected the tiredness and pain in his commander’s face. Eliot nodded and bowed his head in deference - a real gesture of respect rather than a perfunctory service to the man’s rank. 

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot discovers the truth about his men's death.

**Chapter 26**

 

Eliot studied the large reception room, the high ceilings decorated with a myriad of mythological figures, the heavy crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the room, and the walnut furniture with velvet cushions and gold brocade. In his mind he heard Ronan’s taunts about opulence and his lips twitched into a fleeting smile. Eliot had never noticed the flaunted wealth before Ronan; now he couldn’t escape the boy’s sharp words. Somehow, over the last years Ronan’s eyes had become his own. 

Eliot shifted his gaze from the room’s trappings to the young woman standing by the wall, her hands neatly arranged in front of her, ready to serve Eliot should he need anything. Eliot was also aware of the bodyguard standing beside the doors. His grandfather never travelled without an entire retinue. 

Lord Calatis was here to chastise Eliot. He probably thought he could rein in Eliot if only they met in person. Eliot knew the reason for this summons to the Scorbius House, his refusal to accept his upcoming decoration and his insistence that Ronan was the real hero. Eliot never expected his grandfather to travel to the Fourth Province. He must have given up on the idea that Eliot came to him, unlike all the others in his family. 

“Eliot!”

“Mother.” Eliot turned to face her. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” He covered the distance between them in two sure strides. 

“I needed to be here.”

His mother tilted her head, allowing Eliot to kiss her cheek. The tension in her voice and body was hard to miss. Eliot straightened and pushed her away in order to have a better look at her. 

“What’s going on?”

“Your grandfather will explain.”

There was haste in her movements as she put distance between them. Her eyes never fully met Eliot’s, as if she were afraid they would betray her.  

“Mother?” Eliot couldn’t help the question and uncertainty in his voice. 

She looked vulnerable, almost defeated. She was never unsure. Eliot felt his unease rise another notch. His mother’s calm shattered. He glanced in all directions, bracing for an attack. Instincts honed in war roaring to the front.

She shook her head once, a short, curt gesture that demanded Eliot stop his questions. 

“We almost lost you.” Her voice trembled as she uttered the words, and her eyes finally locked on Eliot’s. 

He’d never seen tears in her eyes. At least he couldn’t remember such an occasion. She was an unstoppable force of nature who Eliot had tried to emulate since he was a child. Now tears shone in her eyes, and her face was drained of all strength.

“Mother,” he tried to speak, to reach for her, but she cut him short with a gesture. 

“Don’t, Eliot.”

The doors burst open once more and the serving girl bowed. His grandfather entered the room followed by two bodyguards and Plinius, his personal secretary.  

“Eliot,” he said with a small nod in Eliot’s direction and settled in one of the armchairs, his cane firmly planted before him. 

“Grandfather,” Eliot returned the greeting, bowing his head a fraction.

Sabin took a seat by her father’s side as his grandfather gestured for her to join him. Eliot was not invited to sit. He smirked and turned his head to look at Plinius who took the drinks from the serving girl and served them himself to his mother and grandfather. 

Yes, Eliot was here to be told off. He allowed his contempt to show on his face as he held his grandfather’s eyes. He knew how to play these games. With a slight nod of his head directed at Plinius, Lord Calatis dismissed the staff. 

“Am I to stand here, like a naughty student before the headmaster?” Eliot made no effort to hide the bite in his tone. 

“Do what you will, you always do.” Lord Calatis fell back against the chair and studied Eliot for several seconds. “It’s time you understand we do not walk this world alone. Even the Calatis family has to bow to some rules. Rules you have deliberately ignored.”

Eliot shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Grandfather cut him short.

“Do not interrupt me! For once you will listen to what I have to say before your selfishness and single minded pursuit of childish adventures ruin us.”

Eliot kept his face blank. At least this wasn’t his grandfather’s usual argument of Eliot having responsibilities to the family and his behavior being shameful to their status and name. 

“There are rules to our life, Eliot.”Lord Calatis came to his feet, punctuating his words with a bang of his cane on the parquet floor. “We are powerful, but we follow rules like anyone else. There is chaos without rules. Our very power and influence depends on the rules you are so insistent on breaking. You need to remember who you are.”

“So I’ve been dragged here to be chastised for failing to be a good noble?” Eliot enquired in a conversational tone. “Will you ever understand that I don’t care about playing by the rules your power hungry buddies have created?”

“You cared about my influence and my power when you used our family name and connections to bring that mongrel into this country,” Grandfather roared, banging the cane down. “When you made a mockery out of us all by putting him into the country’s elite forces. You happily used it when you disgraced us all by bringing that sheep lover into our most respected troops. People might be angry with your idiot of a first centurion for such abominations, but it was my name and my power that you used to make it all happen. So don’t you dare talk to me about not wanting it. You can fool others as much as you want, boy, but I know what you are.”

“Careful about how you speak of my first centurion ,” Eliot took a step closing onto his grandfather. The last mission was still a fresh and bleeding wound. Every word regarding the Unbreakables from the mouth of these people who had played the gods with the fates of his men felt like a dagger into his skull. 

 Lord Calatis strode toward Eliot. He tapped Eliot on the chest with the head of the cane. “You’ve brought disgrace to this family. You dishonor the troops you claim to serve.”

“Unbreakables aren’t bigots, I don’t expect you to understand.”

“You fool boy, it’s not only me who doesn’t understand!The world refuses to accept your foolishness. It’s not our way; this is not how we do things. You and your first centurion think you can challenge our ways. I will not stand for it.”

“Mother, are you going to be silent?” Eliot couldn’t understand her silence. She was usually vocal in her beliefs. 

“They nearly killed you, Eliot!” Sabin raised her head and locked eyes with Eliot. 

“Mother, it’s war. It’s not the first nor the last time I’ll face danger.”

“It was not the war.” She shook her head, refusing to meet Eliot’s eyes.

“What are you saying?”

His grandfather, who had walked several steps away from Eliot, turned to look at him. “General Gracilis, cousin to the Scalitus heir, changed the orders, delayed the Army’s assault forces. It wasn’t the confusion of war, but deliberate. The Unbreakables must live by the rules also.”

Eliot felt as if the ground had been pulled from under him. Everything he knew to be true suddenly was a lie. 

“You supported this?”Eliot found it hard to articulate the words, they seemed to have stuck in his throat. He looked at the faces of people who he’d called family and couldn’t believe they could be so perverted as to have allowed for the deaths of so many just to teach him a lesson. Drusus’s eyes flashed before Eliot, eyes that had travelled down to look at the blossoming splotch of blood on his chest, before locking and holding Eliot’s gaze until all life was gone. His men had died protecting the blood of the monster that had murdered them. Eliot had to widen his stance to steady himself. It felt like all air had left his lungs. If Eliot could have drained his blood to sever any relation to these men he would. 

“We didn’t know, Eliot, I swear we didn’t know.” His mother’s eyes locked on his. “I would have warned your first centurion myself if I had known. I’d have screamed it from every street corner.”

“Of course we didn’t know,” Grandfather interjected. “Do you think I’d deliberately allow harm to come to you? You are my grandson, no matter your shortcomings!”

“Me?” Eliot roared, grabbing his Grandfather by his shirt. “What about the seven who died out there? My friends! What about them? Do you know Drusus and Casius shielded me with their bodies when I was hit? I’m alive because they sacrificed their lives for me.”

“Eliot!”

His mother’s shout stopped him. He dropped his hands from his grandfather’s shirt and stepped back.

“How dare you put your hands on me? This is on your head, Eliot!” Grandfather straightened his crumpled suit.“I didn’t know about it. I was not told about it precisely because through your actions you have put my allegiances in question. Your first centurion knows the risks, and he needs to remember them. The orders were to deploy the Second Centuria. Even with all your idiocy no one would have dared to put a Calatis in danger. They tried to protect you, but your first centurion chose to sacrifice you and make sure his lover was safe. That is the man who holds your loyalty.”

Eliot knew he was staring. “Do you even hear yourself, old man?” Eliot said in a cold voice. “Good men died out there. They were betrayed by the men whom you call friends.”

“Inconsequential men. They are born to pave our way to greatness, Eliot. You might pretend not to understand, but you do.”

Eliot turned around and walked to the other side of the room, fearing he might kill the man if he didn’t put distance between them. 

“Eliot.” Mother’s hands were on his shoulder, but Eliot jerked away.

“Don’t. I don’t know who you are anymore.” 

“Eliot, we will not let this go unpunished,” Mother promised.  

“Of course we will not,” Grandfather spoke once more. “We will have revenge on those who put you in danger.”

Eliot turned around to stare at his grandfather. This was his own blood, a man and a family whom he’d admired. He couldn’t be speaking casually of treason. Of course, a minute ago Eliot still believed that Alliance held the moral high ground compared to Kalmacia, now he wasn’t sure anymore. 

“We built this country. We have a right to defend it. Without the nobility, your own ancestors, this country would be nothing. You and your so called friends need to remember that. You are my grandson, and I protect our family and our legacy No one dares to go against Calatis and remains unpunished.”

Eliot could feel his fists tremble with suppressed rage. His body begged to be unleashed into a fury of unchecked violence. Years ago he would have, but the Unbreakables had taught him control. He was a centurion and for that bird on his shoulder good men had died. He was going to honor their memory with every breath he took. 

 “They will pay. Mark my words, they will all pay. I will not rest until then. Tell them that. You wanted me to remember who I was. Who my family is,” Eliot said in a slow, deliberate voice. “I remember now. Tell them they will all be at my feet even if it takes me a lifetime. I am Eliot of Tamor, and Tamor is patient.” Eliot pulled himself to his entire height. He’d repeated the words he’d heard when he was in Tamor. He’d never fully understood those words, he realized he did now.

Grandfather’s eyes burst with anger. “You told him.”

“It was his right to know.” His mother replied calmly, her bearing once again exuding the familiar calm sureness.She walked to stand shoulder to shoulder with Eliot. 

“You will not dare turn your back on this family, this country!” His grandfather directed his anger back toward Eliot. 

“I’m turning my back only on those who have betrayed this country. I will not forget or forgive this, Grandfather.” Eliot turned around to leave the room.

“I’m not finished yet, you impertinent boy.”

“I’m finished.” Eliot said without turning to look at his grandfather and left the room. 

 

 

 

Eliot pulled the door of the car open so savagely it was in danger of coming off its hinges. 

Ronan gave him one look and started the car without asking anything. 

“Fucking traitors!” Eliot slammed his fist into the dashboard, feeling the satisfaction of finally allowing his anger to spill out.

Ronan stole another look at Eliot, but kept quiet. 

“The entire disaster was orchestrated. They were teaching Lucius and me a lesson. Can you fucking believe it?” He gave another punch and a kick, but the rage inside of him refused to subside. He let out an inarticulate growl and kicked the plastic in front of him once again. 

Ronan pulled the car to the side and switched off the engine. He stepped out of the car and waited.

“What are you doing?” Eliot demanded, punching with savagery at the buttons to lower the window and sticking his head out before it was half open. “Get back in the car.”

Ronan didn’t move, didn’t even let Eliot know he had heard him. Eliot got out of the car and walked to Ronan.

“I said into the car, now!”

“Punch me,” Ronan said in a voice that sounded disinterested, his eyes studying the horizon. 

“What?”

Ronan’s eyes trained onto Eliot, giving him his undivided attention. Sometimes the intensity of that blue gaze made Eliot uncomfortable. It felt like the world ceased to exist and they were the only two inhabitants of an empty space. 

“You clearly want to hit something. Inanimate objects are not as satisfying. So punch me.” The words came slow and deliberate and Ronan’s gaze never wavered. 

Eliot was stunned at first and then angry that Ronan would suggest it. 

“Get the fuck into the car!” Eliot articulated the words one by one, advancing on Ronan.

He hadn’t expected the punch that landed squarely on his cheek, crushing the thin layer of muscle trapped between the fist and the cheekbone. Eliot swung and returned the favor. He punched and kicked and the next thing he knew they were both down, Ronan trapped under him. Ronan grinned at him—his lip cracked open, the blood coloring his teeth making him look like a predatory beast. Ten times out of ten Ronan could beat Eliot in hand to hand combat, but Ronan hadn’t fought back. He hadn’t even tried to shield himself from the blows.

“Better?”

“Idiot,” Eliot whispered staring down into Ronan’s eyes. They were alone in the world again. “I should whip you for this.” Instead he lowered his head and locked their lips together not caring that they were in the middle of a road with cars passing by. He drank into Ronan’s scent and his very essence. His world might have been a complete lie, but Ronan was true. Ronan was the only part Eliot could be absolutely sure about, the point from where he would have to rebuild his new world. Eliot pressed their foreheads together and fed on the strength than Ronan offered.  

 “Get up and get into the car.” His voice was rough from the sudden arousal. 

“Yes, Master.” Ronan was on his feet with one leap. 

Eliot stayed on the ground for another second, his hands folded on top of his bent knees, head resting on his arms. 

“They murdered my men, Ronan.” He looked up at Ronan, emotions overwhelming his senses again. 

“I can take care of them, Master. Just give me the word.” Ronan crouched before him.

They both knew who Ronan was talking about and what he was offering.

Eliot shook his head. He rubbed his face, trying to calm his mind. “Not that I’m not tempted.” 

 “Grandfather will take care of the worst offenders. I’ll stay out of it for now. Well, at least on the surface. I do have a couple of ideas.” Ronan stood up and offered his hand to Eliot.

They climbed into the car and sat for a while in silence.

“Will you tell the first centurion?” Ronan voiced the question that had played in Eliot’s mind ever since he left his grandfather’s presence. The second he heard it, the answer came to him easily.

“It’s not the first centurion’s burden. He doesn’t need to know.”

It all had started because of Eliot. Besides, Lucius didn’t have the right means to deal with the situation. Eliot did. This was his problem.

Ronan just nodded slowly and they succumbed to silence for another minute.

“I want to find my father,” Eliot said, surprising himself.

Ronan seemed to consider something for a moment. “Did your mother say who he was?” he asked.

“No and I don’t want to ask. I’m not even sure I want her to know what I’m doing.”

Ronan nodded and pulled his phone out. With one hand firmly on the wheel, Ronan searched for something on his phone.

“Suren of Tamor. Son of Rhun.” He thrust the phone at Eliot.

A stranger was looking at Eliot from the screen with his own green eyes. It was a snapshot of a young man, probably taken for an official document. 

“My father? How?”

“I figured you’d want to find him eventually,” Ronan said by way of answering the unasked question. “Even Calatis can’t erase the past.” Ronan turned his head to the left to check if he had clear road before making an abrupt turn. “I cross-referenced everyone who had been in the same circles with your mother. As you can guess, not many Tamorians.”

“Are you sure?” Eliot kept starring at the face of the blond stranger. 

Ronan gave him a bright smile. “If nothing else those eyes are proof enough.”

“You know where he lives?”

“Even better. I know where he hides.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are looking for additional help in beta'ing this and other stories. If you have any interest, we can be reached here.   
> natatblue@gmail.com


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taurin prepares for a mission.

**Chapter 27**

“Lieutenant.”

Taurin nodded to the decanus of the Second Contubernium and walked the three steps to where the first centurion was standing in the shade cast by the portico in front of the rec hall. “Sir.” Taurin saluted, knowing he was dripping dirt and sweat and wishing for nothing more than a shower under the trickle of water in the barracks. 

“Relax. Share my bit of shade.” The first centurion stepped back to give Taurin space under the roof and out of the worst of the heat. 

“Sir.”

“I’m not here to bust your ass, Lieutenant. I know most of our conversations end that way.”

“Sir,” Taurin repeated. With Eliot, Taurin might have asked for more information, but not with Lucius. The first centurion was an imposing man, but it wasn’t that, but more the feeling that they had nothing in common and they were impossibly foreign to each other. A ridiculous thought. Eliot was Calatis. Lucius was working class and understood hardship, but it was Eliot whom Taurin could read and understand. With Lucius all he could do was be silent and hang on for the ride.

“You know I don’t insist on formality at every moment.”

“Yes, sir.”

The first centurion shook his head, the smallest smile twisting the corners of his lips. “I need you. Come inside.” Lucius held open the door and waved Taurin into the empty rec hall. “You can sit and help yourself to water.” Lucius walked around the first table and fingered the slim file that sat on its otherwise clean surface.

“Sir, what do you need?” Taurin said into the silence when it became obvious that Lucius was going to sit and watch Taurin drink his glass of lukewarm water.

“How stable are the glaciers this time of year in the Kirpak range?”

“The worst avalanches are in the spring and the fall, but it is always dangerous. Mount Sidar claims a few every year in the summer, but I can’t say how many die from avalanches and how many are unprepared. Are you and Aquilla planning a climbing holiday, sir?”

“Smart ass,” the first centurion said with a genuine smile. “You do have it in you. Eliot says you have a sense of humor.”

“Sir?”

“Don’t start that again. I prefer to know what my officers are thinking. I can talk to myself without you present, boy.”

Taurin sat without moving. He kept his eyes focused on a curling and yellowing movie poster on the wall. 

“Are you too stubborn to ask me?” Lucius asked after they both watched the second hand go around the clock twice,

“I go where I’m ordered, sir.”

Lucius snorted. “Your order following is only moderately more proficient than Eliot’s or Ronan’s.” Lucius tapped the slim, manila folder in front of him. “The air force has requested our assistance in rescuing a pilot and his crew.”

“And they are on Mount Sidar?”

“The Kirpak side, an official no fly zone.”

“I’ll have to take them across the Danton Crest; the passes are too closely patrolled.”

“Exactly.” Lucius folded his hands in front of him, his posture calm, but the slight tick below his right eye gave away the force needed for that calm. “What are the odds?”

“It depends on the condition of the aircrew and who goes with me. Best case scenario—maybe fifty-fifty.”

“Who do you want?”

“Ronan and Gaius.”

“Explain.” Lucius pushed his chair back from the table and stretched his legs out in front of him, both settling in and demanding a full explanation.

The choice had been instantly obvious. Maybe it wasn’t to the first centurion, or maybe he was just testing Taurin. “Ronan is an expert climber, and he has light eyes. Eliot trusts Gaius.”

“Light eyes?”

“Smarter to look like we’re from the region.” Taurin didn’t add that Shinzar was far stronger in the remote regions and that one of the tenants of the religion was hospitality toward fellow believers. 

“Will Ronan serve willingly under you?”

“Yes.”

Lucius studied Taurin, his expression inscrutable Taurin knew Ronan’s reputation; he only served directly under Eliot. He also knew of the tension between Eliot and the other centurions because of Ronan’s failure to properly follow the chain of command.

“He will obey my orders,” Taurin said with steady confidence, meeting the first centurion’s gaze. “Eliot will demand it.”

“Ronan has refused transfer to the Primi three times,” Lucius said in the slow cadence he used when working out a problem as he was speaking.

“I will ask Eliot.”

“Ronan will go where Eliot tells him,” Lucius said, still watching Taurin. “The reports of your friendship are not overblown.”

“I do not know of the reports. I am his officer.”

“You are also mine.”

Taurin lowered his eyes at the biting steel in Lucius’s voice. This was his first centurion; he was owed deference. “Of course, sir.”

“Eliot’s snow warrior,” Lucius muttered with a brief shake of his head. “Make it happen.” Command boomed again in Lucius’s voice, the quiet mutter gone as if it had only been a figment of Taurin’s imagination. “You’ll leave in twenty-four hours. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.” Taurin came to his feet and saluted.

#

Eliot was still out on a debrief over a simulated assault mission, a combined training exercise with the Primi, so Taurin showered and changed into a fresh uniform. The mission brief was on his bed in a folder marked with his name. A reconnaissance aircraft flying over Kirpak had suffered mechanical failure and crash landed fifteen miles short of Tamor’s border and safety. The plane’s captain had made two radio transmissions and was now holed up in an abandoned pilgrims’ shelter, unable to continue travel without assistance. 

Mount Sidar wasn’t the steepest or the highest peak in the Kirpak range, but it was the birthplace of the twins who hung low in the sky all through the winter. It held a special place in the heart of Shinzar, and all Tamorians mourned its division on the border. The Kirpak side was closed to pilgrims, the sacred trek a casualty of the ongoing war between the big powers, but the pilgrims’ rest spots had stood for centuries and would continue to stand, stone shelters carved into the mountain. The ancient road was an easy climb, but Kalmacians dressed as Kirpaki soldiers blocked the way. The alternative routes were treacherous, but not impossible. From Tamor, he’d take the ancient pilgrimage road, but he’d cross the border on the high crest and wind down the cliffs of Scalar. For Taurin and Ronan the cliffs would be a moderate climb, even in the few hours of darkness of a Tamorian summer. For Gaius, it would be harder, but not hard. The concern would be the fly boys. He’d have to worry about that later; the first hurdle was getting Ronan.

Taurin tucked the papers back into the folder and headed toward lunch. Feeding over four hundred men was a noisy and messy business. Cement floors and bare walls did nothing to muffle the noise of laughter and swearing and cutlery scraping across the plate. Taurin took a tray, not bothering to choose between the two main dishes, but taking the closest one. They all tasted the same and smelled the same, always like tired grease and soy sauce. 

Taurin walked across the floor to the where Eliot was sitting with the other officers of the Third. Eliot tried to eat with the men, but they preferred not to have a centurion at the table and meals usually ended up with the officers of the centuria together or the three centurions together and the other officers scattered among the men. Eliot smiled at Taurin and nodded his chin to the chair on his left. Ronan was on his right, preferring his master’s company to the other men in his contubernium.

“What did Lucius want?”

Taurin suppressed the need to spit a complaint at the efficiency of the base’s rumor mill. It had been less than an hour, and Eliot already knew that Taurin had met with the first centurion.

“I leave on a mission tomorrow.”

Eliot made a sour face and cut the tough, gray meat on his plate. “I won’t have the pleasure of dining with you.” He didn’t raise the meat to his lips, but turned to face Taurin. “Where? What?”

“Kirpak. Rescue a downed aircrew and escort them to safety. I want Ronan.”

Taurin could see the slight stiffening of Eliot’s features and the quick glance toward his bond mate. The others probably saw nothing. They still saw Ronan and Eliot as shield mates with the word master as nothing more than a joke.

“What’s involved, Lieutenant?” 

Taurin heard both the control in Eliot’s voice and the return to his title. “Sir, I’ll bring you the file after lunch, but I need a climber. Ronan’s blue eyes will also be an asset. No one will look for Alliance soldiers with blue and hazel eyes.”

“Will anyone else be with you?”

“Gaius.”

Eliot’s eyebrows rose. “He’s not blue-eyed.”

“You trust him. He was your second in the Primi.”

Eliot sat back in his chair. He didn’t have a chance to speak before Ronan spoke.

“I’ll go.”

Taurin knew the others were surprised. Sisera swallowed the last of his apple and stood up, followed by Eliot’s fourth.

“Well that was quick,” Eliot said as he watched the others scramble away. “Ronan?”

“I told you I’d go. You want me to interact with others. Now I am and you’re making a big deal out of it.” Ronan threw his knife down on his plate and started to stand.

“Sit.”

Ronan’s legs collapsed at Eliot’s order.

“Eliot,” Taurin said, “I’ll have Gaius with me. You trust him.”

“I trust you,” Eliot said too quickly.

“This is Ronan,” Taurin said, not lifting his eyes from the table, not offering any challenge. “I chased after a baby. Kirpak borders Shirak and it borders Tamor. I understand your concern.”

“Ronan’s the best climber in the Unbreakables after you,” Eliot said, skirting the issue that Taurin knew was between both of them. “It’s Ronan’s choice. I won’t order it.”

“I’ll go. I already said so.”

“Ronan, the file’s on my bed. Get it and familiarize yourself with the mission. I’ll brief Gaius. We leave at 09:00 hours.”

“Yes, sir.” Ronan look at Eliot who nodded his dismissal.

Eliot was silent until Ronan was out of earshot. He leaned forward and toyed with his spoon. “Taurin—”

“Eliot, I won’t abandon him.”

“It’s not that,” Eliot said, the shortness of his temper rising in his voice.

“I should have asked you first.”

“It’s not that either.” Eliot slapped his hand down on the table. “You’re my officer; you’re entitled to my men; Ronan is not an exception. Only…”

“Eliot,” Taurin said, lowering his voice so it was for Eliot’s ears only. “Ronan and I aren’t all that different. I understand him.”

“I didn’t think he likes you.”

“He’s not sure he does and that’s OK. I confuse him.”

“You confuse everyone,” Eliot said with a snort. “I’m just surprised,” Eliot added after a moment. “He won’t join the Primi. Lucius and I don’t ask him to serve alone.”

“I’ll take care of him.” Taurin knew the words were wrong the minute he said them. Eliot’s anger ran hot, fire not ice, and Taurin could see the fury rise up the sharp cheekbones and overtake the emerald eyes. 

“He is the most capable soldier in all the Unbreakables.”

“I don’t argue that,” Taurin said, ducking his head and holding his hand up in a placating motion.

“Bullshit! You see him as weak and broken, damaged goods like everyone else. You want him on his knees.”

Taurin wanted to state the obvious; Ronan was on his knees. He was a shinzella, a Blessed. There was no weakness in the one who held the fire. “He’s not weak, Eliot, but he is what he is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You ask me about Tamor. You know what I believe.”

“In carefully edited snippets, Taurin. You talk in riddles and codes. I know Ronan. I know how strong he is.”

“I want him for his strength. We’re going to have to drag our rescued fly boys over a cliff. We also have to look like we belong. This is the Kirpak range. The ancient ways are strong. Ronan will understand, and he’ll be respected.”

“He’ll be on his knees.”

“I’ll try to avoid it, but we must cross at the Tinan shrine. I’ll say the absolutions, but Ronan will not escape their scrutiny. I may not even get Gaius through. Non-believers are prohibited.”

“And if they don’t?”

“We can cross ten miles east. It’s more dangerous, a harder climb and a Kirpaki checkpoint.”

Eliot ran his fingers through his hair in a quick gesture of irritation. His hand bunched into a fist, and Taurin knew he wanted to bang the table and leap up and pace. Still was hard for Eliot. Taurin kept his hands open, his eyes cast downward. It was his duty to calm the master. His presence should soothe Eliot, not inflame him.

“Be careful.”

“I will be.”

“I want to know exactly what you have planned.”

“Of course, Eliot.”

Eliot blew out a sharp breath. “It will be good for the men to see Ronan under your command, part of the normal chain of command. It will be good for you also. Build your prestige.” Eliot stood, and Taurin started to rise. “Finish your lunch, Lieutenant. Briefing my office 15:00.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are still hoping to find a willing victim to help us with these stories. This story is complete. It is for the future novels that we need help. We realize this series generates little interest and perhaps we will let it wither away. Certainly it will be rougher copy if we are forced to do all the editing ourselves.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taurin visits Tamor.

**Chapter 28**

Taurin’s eyes travelled to the snowcapped peaks jutting into the blue of the Tamor sky. The ribbon of dirt traveled high into the mountains; pilgrims had walked this path for thousands of years. Now it was technically a road; the rusted yellow caution sign warning of dangerous curves proved it, but for a Tamorian, a believer, it was more than a road and a mountain view. A trek over the Sidar peak was an affirmation of faith. 

The motorbike’s engine struggled as the climb became steeper. The chickens in the cages he had strapped to the back continued to squawk their protests at the noise and the scattering of gravel that pelted them as the bike’s tires struggled to grip the steep road.At a casual glance, they were ordinary Tamorian travelers. Gaius, Taurin, and Ronan were in civilian clothes, Taurin in his own, a loose fitting tunic in Caderyn’s house color’s, a gift from the master when Taurin had returned to the Unbreakables. Ronan and Gaius were in Alliance clothes, worn and faded, and typical for Tamor. They were laborers looking for work repairing houses and barns during the short summer if anyone asked.

They crested another steep climb and the ancient fortress came into view, the guardian of Mount Sidar and the Tinan shrine. The cluster of stone buildings stood in a mixture of disrepair and complete destruction. Construction equipment and pallets of building material were scattered around. Two workers idled next to a rusted pickup, smoking a cigarette and passing the precious butt back and forth. The Alliance Ministry for Provincial Affairs had promised restoration of Tamor’s sacred shrines. It didn’t look like they were getting very far despite the millions of denarii thrown to the projects. Taurin knew where the money went and so did every other Tamorian, into the pockets of the corrupt and greedy.

Taurin parked his bike in a patch of dirt, which might be a parking lot or just a spot where the windswept soil refused to shelter life and signaled for Gaius and Ronan to follow. They passed through a crumbling stone arch that was still flanked by watchtowers where the shrine’s archers would have protected it from the infidels. Inside the compound, the only habitable structure was a prefab trailer, a hand lettered sign in both Tamorian and Unified announced that it was the Ministry of Parks and Religious Affairs combined office.

Taurin pushed open the door, expecting to be greeted by some imported bureaucrat from the Alliance. Instead, a tall thin women, sat behind the desk. She was dressed in the flowing prayer robes of Shinzar, her head covered in a colorful scarf of the house of Sidar. Taurin dropped to one knee. The shuffling behind him told Taurin that Gaius and Ronan had followed his example.

“Stand, sons of the Alliance,” she said in accented, but clear Unified. “Have you come to tell me that construction has again hit unexpected delays or to convince me I would be better off to winter in the city?”

“No, we seek to petition the right of travel,” Taurin said, not rising from his knees. He was an un-bonded Shinzlan; he had no right to stand.

“I cannot deny you that right. The Alliance forbids it.”

“I seek your blessing.”

The woman stood and walked from behind the desk. She was tall and older than she first appeared. Her thin hands curled with the arthritis of the passing of time. She stared down at Taurin, her hazel eyes surrounded by a map of lines. Her fingers touched Taurin’s green and silver shirt.

“Caderyn had no shinzlan.”

“It was a gift.”

“Is he your master?”

“I trained with him.”

“But he is not your master. That explains the others. The Shiraki is a shinzella, but the other is of the Alliance and does not believe, but is following your lead. What are you? Son of Tamor or son of the Alliance?”

“I am Lieutenant Taurin of the Unbreakables. These are my men.”

“You cannot avoid the other forever, Lieutenant Taurin of the Unbreakables. What do you and your men want?”

“The blessing to travel across Mount Sidar.”

“To bring war closer to our people?”

“To save downed warriors on the other side. You know of the Kalmacian barbarity with prisoners. It is not our way.”

“Making war on our brothers and sisters in Kirpak is not our way either.”

“It is not the Kirpakis who are the enemy, but the Kalmacians. I do not make war on Kirpak. Kalmacia is our enemy, Tamor’s also.”

“If you are found, it is the Kirpakis, the believers, who will suffer. They will again die for the big powers’ foolishness. I will not allow it.”

“They will die at the Kalmacian hands if I don’t retrieve our airmen. You know the Kalmacians. They’ll accuse them of harboring the enemy and slaughter them—an excuse for another pogrom.” Taurin matched her stare, letting his power bleed into his eyes. As an un-bonded shinzlan, he should be deferential, but she was being naive. The Alliance, for all its horrors, was not the equivalent of Kalmacia.

“The wars of Kalmacia and the Alliance are their wars. I will not interfere.”

“We are part of the Alliance; it is our war too. Shinzar requires honor and mercy. You’ll leave them to die after hours of torture. You’ll condemn our brethren for your cowardice.”

“Instead, you wish me condemn our brethren to endless war.”

“We are already condemned to it. At least let us remember Tamor and her teachings.”

She studied Taurin for a long moment. “You are passionate, my warrior. Go to your comrades. May the gods allow you quick and successful passage. Now go.” She turned and returned to her desk.

Taurin rose and with a quick jerk of his head walked out of the trailer with Ronan and Gaius behind him.

“Do you care to tell me what that was about?” Gaius asked in his slow drawl that indicated he was angry. “You just blew any chance of us having a believable cover story. You told the crazy old bat that we were Unbreakables.”

“She will not tell anyone, and we needed her blessing.”

“So she won’t send an army of old women with twig brooms after us?”

“The gods do not tolerate trespassers.”

“Lieutenant—“ Gaius started.

“Three times the Alliance posted soldiers on Mount Sidar and three times they all died. I am the lieutenant here, soldier, and I will not risk it. I cannot fight angry gods. I will pray for our protection. Come.”

“You’re crazy,” Gaius snapped, not moving and looking at Taurin with open belligerence.

“I promised the centurion I’d do my best to bring you both home in one piece. This is me doing my best, and I don’t care if you think I’m crazy. Now move.”

“Move,” Ronan said, giving Gaius a push. “Let him sprinkle his holy water or whatever. The sooner you let him do his thing, the sooner we can get those boys and get out of here.”

“Fine. Religious chanting is all yours, Lieutenant. It’s out of my expertise.”

“Thank you, Gaius.” 

Taurin cut across the compound, following a stone path that had almost disappeared in the ravages of weather. He knelt on an outcropping of rock and let the words of his mother wash over him as he watched the rays of the sun reflect on the snow of the mountain.

“That’s it. We have to be at the border by nightfall.” Taurin swung his pack over his shoulder and walked off without looking back.

#

 

They’d been lucky. The retrieval had been almost flawless, and the airmen were already on their way back home. Taurin and his men would leave tomorrow. Tonight they were enjoying a decent meal and a spot of freedom before returning to base. 

Back in uniform, the locals were cold to hostile, but Taurin had managed to find a small restaurant known for its good food. He’d promised Ronan Tamor’s spiced lamb and Gaius was enjoying the food and the dark Tamorian ale. 

“Lieutenant,” Gaius said, beer foam flecking his lips. “Earlier, well,”—he shrugged and buried himself in his beer—“at the shrine, I was out of line. And, well…” he hesitated again. “You have a reputation, but when I looked at that damn ice wall, I could see why you were praying. I was starting to wish I’d done a little praying too. Anyway, Lieutenant, pray all you want. I was being an ass.”

Taurin smiled, a tiny shift of his lips, and pushed more of fresh bread and seared meat toward Gaius. “Eat before Ronan leaves us nothing but empty plates. I took no offense, Gaius.”

“You should’ve. I was being an ass.”

“I know my reputation. The centurion’s pet.”

“Sir, no—“

“Gaius, I’m not an idiot. I committed near treason and was sent on vacation.”

“It’s not my place to comment, sir. Your snipers think you’re a savior when they don’t want to kill your ass.”

“Checked me out first?” Taurin said, keeping his voice light, letting Gaius know he wasn’t angry.

Gaius shrugged and dropped his eyes to the table. “I was assigned to Tamor with you.”

“Home country with the crazy one. You’d have been a fool not to check me out, and I don’t ask for fools.”

“You asked for me? I thought Eliot put me here.”

“I asked. You balance Ronan.”

“Ronan—“ Gaius started, looking at Ronan who was dipping his bread into the meat juice.

“Someone had to keep an eye on our crazy ass snow warrior. He asked, and I told him yes. And I like climbing.”

They all were skirting the obvious; Ronan didn’t deploy without Eliot. Most had even stopped questioning that fact. It was the way the Third Centuria worked; it was their centurion’s will.

“You’re a brat,” Taurin said, smacking the back of Ronan’s head and breaking the tension that had settled around the table. The teasing and the joking were Alliance behaviors; it was something that Eliot wanted. The mountains were quiet, reserved, formal, but Taurin was Eliot’s. He must bend to his guardian master, and he must help Ronan bend. Here with the scent of peppers and cilantro and the sound of Tamorian in his ears, he wanted Ronan at his feet. He wanted the calmness promised by the teachings of Shinzar, but his blue beret lay on the table, a sharp reminder of who he was now and where he’d promised to belong. 

“And you love me for it,” Ronan said with that broad grin that never touched his blue eyes. He snatched the last strip of meat off the platter. “My stomach loves you.”

“Impossible,” Taurin said with a shake of his head. “Do you want more? You can’t possibly still be hungry?”

“Dessert.”

“Of course,” Taurin said with a groan. “How could I forget?” He searched the small restaurant for their waitress. Finally he spotted the girl, her blond hair had loosened from its tight braids, and her face looked more tired than earlier. Her uniform apron did nothing to hide the bump of an expectant mother.

“Sir,” she said catching his eye and hurrying over with an empty tray to collect the refuse of their enormous dinner.

“Cake for everyone?”

“What kind, sir?”

“You choose.”

“Sir?”

“Bring us a sampling. I’m sure it will be excellent.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” She blushed and scurried to grab the used plates, her eyes never rising above the table level.

She returned with three pieces of cake, two the traditional berry filled cakes of the Tamorian summer and one of dark imported chocolate. 

“Thank you.”

“You’re pleased with my choice?”

“Yes.” Taurin studied the pale face and the haunted hazel eyes that jerked to the floor when she realized Taurin was watching her. “Are you feeling well?” A thin sheen of sweat coated her forehead.

“It’s hot in here, sir. The baby—you know.”

“Why aren’t you home? Where is your husband?”

She shook her head. “Can’t—“

“Why don’t you tell him?” someone catcalled from the next table. “They’re you’re type. You spread your legs easily enough for the last soldier.”

“Shut up.” Tears wetted her face, and she jerked her arm up to wipe them away with her sleeve. “Sir, please. May I go?” she whispered, her eyes pleading with Taurin.

“No. Sit.”

Her legs crumpled and she barely found the chair,

“Taurin, if you’re going to do something foolish, let me smear that guy all over the floor first,” Gaius drawled. 

“I’m trying not to.”

“Women and babies. At least your chivalry is predictable.”

“Sirs, please,” she babbled. “They’re right. I’m not deserving. I’m a slut.”

“All mothers are revered; all children are precious.”

“Not a half bred bastard of a First Province soldier.”

“By choice?”

“I thought he was nice. He took me out, bought me pretty things.”

She didn’t need to finish the story. It was all too familiar. It was all the jumble of warnings and memories from his childhood to stay away from Alliance soldiers. She’d been easy, unsuspecting. Taurin clenched his fist, forcing his nails into his palm. He swallowed his own nausea and shame. 

“Your parents?”

“My father threw me out. The owner here lets me a room and feeds me in exchange for my work.”

It could be worse. She had a roof and food. Taurin had seen the owner behind the bar. He belly hung out over his pants, and he had small, cruel eyes. His hands had grabbed each bill and coin with desperate haste. She’d owe him more than work. 

Taurin glanced over at Ronan. He’d seen where this was going also, and his fingers were vibrating on the table, Taurin nodded, and Ronan slid from his seat and sauntered toward the bar, a predator in full display. Terror would do the restaurant owner good. It would remind him where to keep his hands.

“Is there no master?”

“Not here. In Nydan, I’ve been told,” she whispered, her teeth worrying her lower lip, her hands clutching each other desperately. “The child’s not Tamorian. I’ve shamed my family.”

“The child will be Tamorian.”

“But—“

“They are wrong here. All who shelter in our mountains and bow their heads to the mother goddess are Tamorian. That cannot be forbidden. No master will allow it. No master will abandon a mother and a child.”

“I will take her.”

A thin man with no teeth and sparse gray hair had slithered to the table. His eyes were bloodshot from too much drink, but his words were clear.

“I heard your comrade’s threats. He is most inventive, but he will not be here. I know of the master in Nydan.”

“You will not drink,” Taurin demanded.

“No, Master.” The man bowed low.

“No,” Taurin said. “I am not a master; I am un-bonded.”

“You will bond. The fates will guide you. He will be like you, fierce and honorable, a warrior to raise Tamor’s head. You will see, Master.” He bowed again. “May I?” He reached for the girl’s hand. 

“Straight to the master. No drinking.”

The man dropped to one knee and pressed his lips to Taurin’s palm. “My word.”

“Go. May the gods bless you and keep you safe.”

“You do go for the dramatic, Lieutenant,” Gaius said, his voice too loud, the effort too obvious to try to categorize something he didn’t understand.

“Occupational hazard,” Taurin said, trying to laugh it off, to put his comrade at ease, to cover the side of his country that wasn’t shared.

“Taurin.” Gaius leaned forward and captured Taurin in his brown eyes. “You did right, but I will forget all I saw and heard. This is of your people.” He sat back and raised his voice to a normal level. “Let’s rescue Ronan before I have to explain to the centurion why Ronan turned this place into matchsticks.”

“Thank you.”

“No, Lieutenant. I’ve already forgotten.”

 

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot meets someone from his past.

 

 

**Chapter 29**

 

Eliot stopped in front of the large windows of the coffee shop. His reflection stared back at him from the darkened glass. For a second it felt as if he were staring at a stranger. When did those lines appear on his forehead? Or his cheeks turn so rough, his gaze so guarded? It felt as if somehow his seventeen year old self had come back and was assessing this older version. His heart fluttered madly as he thought of Lucrecia. He checked out his reflection once more. Eliot had dressed to impress. He was in his parade uniform, his ribbons and medals displayed on his chest. But the uniform and shining pieces of metal couldn’t hide the changes in Eliot and that is what she would see - the grim, soulless expression of his eyes, the sharpness of his features and the ruthlessness of his expression. An assassin, a murderer, a killer in fancy dress.

Eliot shook his head. It had been years. They had not parted on the best terms. After so many years it shouldn’t matter to Eliot what she saw. He stepped into the coffee shop and searched the room.

It hadn’t been difficult to track down Lucrecia Tarquinus. Her assistant had been more than happy to give Eliot details of her whereabouts as soon as his eyes landed on Eliot’s blue beret and the falcon on his shoulder. Much like many young boys of the Alliance, Lucrecia’s assistant had a feverish fascination with the Unbreakables. For once in his life the doors had opened for Eliot because of the bird on his shoulder, not his name. 

“Sir, may I help you?” a timid voice interrupted Eliot’s search. He tore his eyes from the patrons of the coffee shop and fixed them on the server who clutched at the menu as if it were a life vest.

“At ease,” Eliot barked before he realized this wasn’t one of his soldiers and barking at the boy would hardly make it any better. He smiled at the boy, hoping it would put him at ease and spoke in a softer tone. “I’m here to meet someone. Get me a black coffee please.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy bobbed his head and scurried away. 

Eliot gave a small shake of his head as he watched the boy go about his duties. As he turned, he spotted her. She was sitting in the farthest corner of the room, her body partially hidden by the shadows of the large artificial palm tree standing by her table. His heart gave a mad leap as his eyes rested on her. She was just as beautiful as Eliot remembered her. No, that wasn’t right. She was even more beautiful. She had been a half child when Eliot had last seen her, her thin body almost lost in the large black graduation robe. She was a grown woman now and she was stunning. Eliot groaned inwardly, annoyed at his own boyish infatuation that seemed to have surfaced from nowhere. She had been one of the few people in Eliot’s life who he could honestly call a friend. Of course, Eliot had the usual and expected array of male friends, accompanying him to the races and drinking expeditions, but those were not friends to any real extent. She had been that to Eliot, with their interminable arguments and mutual annoyance. She was smart and beautiful, and she was spectacularly unimpressed with his family’s power. Eliot had loved having her around. They had been inseparable from junior high until, contrary to everyone’s expectations, she chose another over Eliot. He knew he had hardly been graceful about that. He was a washed out boy from one of the newly rich families, a mediocrity at best in all he did, yet her eyes melted to warm chocolate when she was around him and it had brought out the worst in Eliot. He’d learned things about himself that he would have preferred to never know.

Eliot squared his shoulders and marched toward her table with sure steps. He was an Unbreakable centurion now. He had a duty to the uniform he wore and the men who served. He couldn’t dwell over past errors. 

Reaching her table, he rested his hands over the back of the empty chair in front of her and studied her for a second. She looked oblivious to the world. The light from the laptop screen illuminated her face in a cold blue that failed to take away from the soft lines of her face. Heaps of papers were scattered all over the table, and she was searching in an open file on her lap.  

“Hello, Lucrecia,” Eliot said. 

Startled by Eliot’s voice she looked up, her large, caramel eyes bursting with angry annoyance at being interrupted before recognition hit her and those eyes became even bigger as she took in Eliot’s presence.  

“Eliot,” she whispered and for a second she looked at Eliot with those same chocolate eyes that had driven Eliot insane. 

Her gaze travelled over Eliot, studying and not quite believing. Eliot, gone for so many years, must seem to her as more of an apparition than a reality.

Eliot pulled the chair out and took a seat, trying to step back into a role that he no longer recognized. “You look well.”

“And you look just as arrogant as ever,” she shot back, the warmth in her eyes vanishing. 

She couldn’t possibly still begrudge Eliot the little unfortunate event with her boyfriend. But of course she was. She wouldn’t be Lucrecia if she didn’t. Eliot gave her a bright smile, refusing to be put out by her coldness. 

“I see age has done no favors to your manners.”

“You are correct. Unlike your ego, my manners did not grow over the years.”

This time Eliot’s grin was even broader. He had missed this. He had missed her.Eliot leaned forward and held her gaze.

“You can’t honestly still harbor resentment over what happened ten years ago. We were kids. Some of us stupider than the others, but still- kids”

Her eyes narrowed into angry slits. “And that is precisely why I am still angry with you, Eliot Sanders of the Calatis House. Ten years, well into your adulthood and you still show no hint of remorse for ruining lives.”

Eliot stiffened against the back of the chair. He had expected annoyance, but not real anger. “That boy of yours was a first class idiot,” he accused in a low voice, leaning forward and shaking a finger at her. “Even a mentally challenged toddler should have known that breaking into the teachers’ quarters and stealing the next exam and the grade book was a monumentally bad idea.”

“You put him up to it.” Her voice rose to an indignant pitch.

“And if he hadn’t been a complete sheep he never would have done it. I have no sympathy for an idiot who could be so easily manipulated into stupid behavior.” Eliot crossed his hands over his chest. What he’d done to Caspian had been hanging heavy on his conscience for years, but faced with her still fresh anger, he found it hard to admit that he had felt responsible for Caspian’s expulsion from school.

“Well, then you must have been surrounded by idiots because we all followed you like sheep,” she spat. “When you suggested we protest the decision, we all followed, believing we were doing something special. Should I remind you how it ended for all of us? Except you, of course.”

Eliot shifted his gaze, studying the artificial tree behind her. She was right, he had been the leader of the class, and it was he who in order to alleviate his guilt had talked everyone into protesting. They had stood no chance in a school as conservative as theirs and Eliot had known it. Of course nothing happened to him or the other First Family offspring, but the rest were less fortunate. Lucrecia was second rank nobility. In their school it was akin to being a nobody. She and another five of their classmates had almost been expelled. Eliot had twisted his grandfather’s arm to have him interfere on their behalf. They all still lost important points from their overall marks and had lost any chance of going to the most prestigious universities. 

“I never asked to be treated differently. I did what I could to protect you,” Eliot said eventually, his voice soft. “I know what my name means. I dislike it no less then you do, maybe even more. I thought you were above holding my family’s name against me.” He trained his eyes on her once again, challenging her with his gaze.

“Just like I thought bullying the non-blue bloods was above yours.” She never was one to back down. Eliot respected that. It was what had made him fall for her. 

“What happened with Caspian had nothing to do with his class and don’t you dare pretend you don’t know. Eliot grasped the table edges with enough force that his knuckles went white. “He was an idiot with no single original idea in his tiny brain.”

“He was a gentle soul in need of friendship. He was harassed and bullied by his family because he was not a gold starved shrew like the rest of them, and you broke his last support. He admired you; he looked up to you. I’m horrified thinking of what you’re capable of doing now under the protection of that uniform and the bird on your shoulder.”

This time she’d gone too far. Eliot knew he’d made a mistake with Caspian. He had known it back then too. Now, having seen what life really was about for others who lived beyond the power of First Families, Eliot understood the cruelty and thoughtlessness of his own actions better than ever. That didn’t give her the right to disregard his loyalty and sacrifice to the Unbreakables. 

 “You know nothing of the burden this bird puts on me.”

“Do you mean legally bullying young and vulnerable men?”

 “Yes, I beat and terrify them until fear is their best friend and so familiar to them they don’t even register it because that’s how I bring them home,” Eliot said in a cold, level tone. “You go ahead and call me a bully, a monster or whatever else you please, but it’s men like me, who do what needs to be done without worrying whether they look sufficiently civilized for this rotten and hypocritical society. It’s us who keep you safe behind the borders. So don’t you patronize me from your high horse of liberalism”

“You made the perfect career choice,” she said, her voice unperturbed, even though the bright color on her cheeks showed that she was as upset as Eliot. “Just the place for a megalomaniac like you. Now you can join ranks with those who keep this country in slavish obedience through the terror of war.”

This had been a mistake. He should have never come. He wasn’t equipped to deal with this world anymore. Eliot pushed away from the table. He was ready to leave, but something stopped him. The men he had buried, the ones he still would lead into battlefield, Ronan and Taurin. He felt all of them. Unbreakables didn’t give up. If he couldn’t get to Lucrecia, to the one person who had shared so much with him, then he would never get to the rest of the world. He stopped and took a deep breath, putting his own frustrations, annoyances and petty desires aside. 

“You are wrong.” He set back, his eyes holding hers. “I’ve seen war and whatever you think you know about it, believe me, it doesn’t even begin to cover the reality.”

“You chose war, Eliot,” Her voice was softer. She was ready to listen. 

“No, I didn’t.” Eliot shook his head. “The seventeen years old foolish boy from power and riches who hadn’t seen a second of hardship in his life did.” He reached for her hand, but never touched it. He simply put his own hand palm up near hers. “When you are that young and naïve it’s easy to see only the glory and the triumph of the victories. After all, no one tells you about the pain of losing your friends, about the horror of watching them die, of ordering them to their deaths. No one tells you that the fire you carry will bring death to innocents whose only fault is that they are in your way. No one tells you that you will look in the eyes of your enemy, see an ordinary man who just hopes to go home to his parents, his wife and children and that you will know that, but still pull the trigger ending that hope. No one prepares you for the howl of a mother who’s searching for her dead child, or the weeping of a grown man who, with his bare hands, is digging the rubble of his collapsed house to get to the bodies of his children and wife. That is war Lucrecia. That is what I see and live every day. That is what I hope will stop one day. But I can’t change it alone and as long as there is war, I and men like me will need to do what it takes to protect our country. Not because we’re better somehow, but because on this side of the border there are my friends, my family, my people and my duty is to them first. So, yes I will go to war day after day and lead my men to it, but I will never join ranks with those who hold this country hostage. And I was hoping to have your help in changing what we cannot accept any more.”

 “You always knew how to enchant and enthrall people. You always knew the right thing to say.” She broke the silence after what seemed to be an eternity of staring at each other. 

“This isn’t an act, Lucrecia,” Eliot spoke, keeping his voice soft. “I know things need changed, but I can’t do it alone.”

“And why now? You were happy to have nothing to do with me for over ten years. What have changed?”

“I grew up,” Eliot offered with a shrug. “I learnt what things were really like. I don’t know,” he added eventually. “Too many things have happened and one in particular, but we can’t speak of it now.”

“Why me?”

“Why not you? You are the smartest person I know. You are driven. You are one of the Liberal’s rising stars, and we always dreamed of changing the world together.”

She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

“No, you dreamed to change the world. The great Calatis at the forefront of reforms, just like in the ancient times. Building the world to match to your will and image.”

Eliot grimaced, “You make me sound like I was some sort of evil manic with dreams of world domination.”

“I think you still are. Why did you think I stayed away? I could have come to you, I never did.”

“You were angry with me,” Eliot said with a shrug.

“I was and I wanted to stay that way, and I knew that the day I met you I would forgive you. That’s how it’s always been, Eliot. It has always been impossible to stay mad at you, because you always knew what to say, what buttons to push.”

“Lucrecia,” Eliot covered her hand with his own. “Come now, you’ve been the only one who’s given me a run for my money. You never cared about my name, or our family power. You told me the way things were, and you made me crawl every single time before forgiving me. And yes, I do know I was a complete and phenomenal ass to Caspian and I was an irresponsible toad to everyone else. I know that! See? Yet again you’ve made me admit it. And I do apologies for it. If I could, I’d go back and fix it, but I can’t. So help me make things so that idiots like me can never harm others through their sheer idiocy.”

“Argh,” she growled in frustration and jerked her hand away from Eliot’s. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. Always knowing what to say. Always. You’re impossible to stay mad at and you know that!” She accused, pouting playfully. It made Eliot smile and feel young and foolish again. 

“So, am I forgiven?”

“Yes, you impossible man, you are! So, what do you want Eliot? Eliot Sanders of Calatis House always wants something when he makes you feel like you’re the only damn person on the planet who matters to him.”

“I already told you. I want your help to change the world. Or rather,” he held out his hand to silence her, when she tried to protest. “Rather, I want to help you and your comrades in mind to change the world.”

Eliot pushed the stack of files he had brought in with him.

“Read through this. Not here. Take it with you and have a good read. We will talk more when you know what’s in there. There are many issues in the military that need public attention. This could be a nice platform to launch a serious attack on the Conservatives.”

Lucrecia sighed and collected the files.

“Why do I feel like I’m selling my soul to the trickster god?”

“This is going to be your show, Lucrecia. I’m just a helping hand. You call the shots.”

She looked at him, clear disbelief written on her face.

“I’ve known you for long enough, Eliot, to know that it’s always your show. You have and will always remain the only man in the building to call the shots. You don’t share.”

“I’m not that bad,” Eliot protested.

“Even worse and you know it!”

“Is it why you chose him over me?” Eliot asked softly. A question that he should have asked years ago, instead of going into malicious attacks over the matter. 

“Perhaps,” she responded with a short nod. “You were too intense and too immovable. I felt like I was losing myself with you, Eliot. I loved being around you, but whenever I got away for long enough to escape your pull, my true self came rushing back. I loved you, Eliot, but I couldn’t survive within your realm. I’m not built only to follow.”

“I never--,” Eliot started to protest, but she cut him short.

“Maybe you didn’t do it on purpose, but that was the way it was. I needed to be away from you at least in some ways.”

Eliot cocked his head to one side and studied the room. Pointless questions. They could have never been. Eliot was an Unbreakable. That would have never worked out. 

“Are you happy now?” he asked after a short pause, looking at her once again. “Did you find the one who wouldn’t interfere with who you are?” 

She nodded. “Yes, he might not be the man who can electrify the entire room, but he loves me and when he looks at me, it might not feel like the world had stopped at his command so I could enjoy the view, but when he looks, I know he sees me.”

Eliot nodded. “Good. I’m glad you’re happy.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?” Eliot snorted. “I’m an Unbreakable. No wives waiting for us at home.”

“I meant the other, the well-sung unbreakable bond between the brothers.” She smiled mischievously. “Do you have a shield mate? That’s what it’s called, I believe?” She turned more serious, but a gentle smile was still playing on her lips. 

“Ronan,” Eliot breathed his name as if it were a benediction. He couldn’t understand the sudden emotion or desire for Ronan to be here. Lucrecia would be horrified if she saw Ronan with Eliot. 

She turned away for a moment, drawing away both mentally and physically. “You love him,” she said in a low whisper. “I can’t believe it; I never thought you would actually be able to love someone. And he probably walks in your shadow and thinks you hold the stars in your palm.”

Eliot retreated to his own space, stung and angry, wanting to deny, but unable to do so as it would be a lie. Ronan was all that and he did all that--and Eliot’s soul sang with it. 

“I never asked it of him,” he said in a tone that was defensive to his own ears.

“No, not in so many words.” She kept her gaze on Eliot’s face and Eliot refused to return it. 

“I don’t wish to discuss, Ronan,” he said abruptly, raising his eyes to lock them on Lucrecia. “He’s none of your concern.”

“Eliot, if he makes you happy, I’m happy you have him.”

They held each other’s eyes for a moment. Would she? if she’d seen what Ronan was, what Eliot was with him? 

“He does.” He wouldn’t say more, not even to her. He could tell that there was no Eliot without Ronan. Eliot had been foolish not to understand that, but the last mission had changed that. 

“Good,” She smiled. “Ronan? An unusual name. Not from around these parts then? Seventh Province?”

“Shirak,” Eliot crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her with a challenge. 

He eyes went wide, before a grin spread over her face.

“So the rumors of you bringing a young thing from Shirak and into the Unbreakables are true? Well, you know I’m no lady but even I can’t repeat all the details of those nasty rumors. I always thought they were blatant lies. My, my, Eliot Sanders, who knew you were a romantic.”

“Oh, shut up.” Eliot kicked her under the table, and she giggled for a second looking like the schoolgirl Eliot had last seen. 

They sobered up as quickly as they had lost track of their surroundings and studied each other for a long while as if rediscovering each other - remembering the old, learning the new. 

“Will you do the honor of dining with me, Lucrecia Tarquinius?” Eliot asked, coming to his feet and offering his hand to her. 

“Are you going to skip your centurion duties to dine with me?”

“I’ve already skipped them to have a coffee with you, I think dinner is a must now.”

Lucrecia took his hand and they left the café. It was a small victory, but Eliot had secured an ally and recovered a good friend today. It wasn’t bad for one day’s work. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Igeret, for your assistance with the beta.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentions how much I dislike doing summaries? I think I'm all for read teh chapter and find out.

**Chapter 30**

 

They made it to base just before midnight. Gaius and Taurin both headed straight to the shower room. They lived in the barracks, and there was little point in waking up everyone twice by going in to leave their gear before showering.

 Ronan nodded at the two and went to see Master first. A shower could wait even if his body begged for hot water.

“Master?” Ronan called out the instant he pushed the door open. It banged against the wall and ricocheted back. Ronan grimaced, expecting Eliot’s exasperated reprimand about Ronan behaving like an overly energetic puppy.

There was nothing. “Master?” Ronan repeated, going into the bedroom.

Empty. The bed was neatly made and Eliot’s parade uniform was missing. If Eliot was off base at this hour it meant one thing, he was meeting with someone.

Ronan threw his bag down with a sigh and kicked it to the far side of the room. He grabbed a clean change of clothes and went to the shower room.

Taurin was lacing his boots as Ronan walked in and he gave Ronan an eerie assessing look that seemed to shoot right through him. Gaius, with only a towel wrapped around his waist, tapped Ronan’s shoulder as he passed him.

“That was fun, gentlemen, let’s not do it again. Lieutenant.” He turned to look at Taurin and his posture changed. Instantly he was an Unbreakable despite his half naked state. He said no more, but a short nod told all that needed said.

Taurin returned the nod before turning to Ronan.“Don’t spend the entire night here,” he said, as if he somehow knew Ronan would stall going to Eliot’s quarters for as long as possible while Master wasn’t there.

“Yeah,” Ronan said, turning away from Taurin, but not fast enough to miss the hazel eyes going deadly. “Yes, sir,” Ronan corrected, suppressing the need to roll his eyes. Eliot would kill him if Taurin complained. At least that’s what he told himself. Taurin was sir because Eliot wanted military protocol followed. It had nothing to do with the fire that seemed to cut through Ronan every time Taurin looked at him with disapproval. Definitely nothing.  

Ronan turned the hot water tap to the upper limit and tipped his head back, welcoming the onslaught of scalding water. He groaned in pleasure as his tired and tense muscles started to relax. He heard Taurin’s boots beating on the tile, the sound gradually retreating. He was finally alone. He liked it that way.

Ronan let out another sigh of pleasure and pressed his head to the cold tile while exposing his back to the cascading hot water. This was bliss—the contrast of cold and hot lulled him into a dream-like state where the surroundings were pushed to the background, a muted haze swallowed by his own thoughts.

Eliot. That one thought drowned everything else, silenced any other need or want. Ronan shivered at the remembrance of the fire that was Eliot. He had missed master. This had been the first time he had deployed without Eliot and he had felt every second without him. The only thing that kept him going was that strange feeling he always had—like master was somehow around even when away. It was some sort of invisible thread that felt like a constant link connecting Ronan to Eliot. Ronan yearned for that connection, while Eliot fought it. To Ronan it felt as if he could lose himself in Eliot if he followed the command in his soul, but Eliot kept them apart. Only rarely, at his most unguarded moment, did Eliot lower his guard and allow Ronan to touch his very essence. In those moments Ronan felt like a super being granted powers beyond mere humans’ imaginations.

That was the power that had fed Ronan and allowed him to rescue Eliot from captivity and then crawl for a week through the desert and enemy controlled territory while carrying a half-dead Eliot on his back. When Ronan went after Eliot that day, he hadn’t expected to return. What had happened was impossible. Everyone had told him that he’d done the impossible, but none of them knew exactly how dire things had been. He couldn’t even organize the events in his head correctly. There was an entire battalion of heavy infantry closing in on them, artillery fire covering the ground like a deadly net, Eliot wounded and beaten with an enemy platoon swarming over him. Ronan had no idea how he’d done it. He remembered rage, the surge of power, and then nothing. His memory was a black void until he remembered them speeding away into the desert on one of enemy’s vehicles. It had hardly been the last of the danger.

Eliot had been delirious with pain and blood loss. He’d lowered he shield and allowed Ronan in. Ronan had latched onto the power which vibrated between them, power that master usually denied feeling. That fed him; the power had kept them both going. For that long march, they were one being, impossible to know where Ronan ended and Eliot began. The doctors had marveled at the fact that blood loss and dehydration hadn’t killed Eliot. Ronan knew in his heart that it was his desire that had saved Eliot. Ronan hadn’t given up, so Master lived. Ronan had felt guilty for going against Master’s wishes, but that had been the only way they could survive. Eliot had not mentioned any of it since. Maybe Master didn’t remember, or maybe he didn’t want to remember.

He heard the steps too late. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he had missed another entering the room.

“Welcome back.” Master’s voice echoed in the empty shower room. Ronan turned around to face him. There was something different about him. Calm and confident, Master had finally decided upon an action. 

Ronan shuddered as he studied Eliot. If there were any gods out there, his god was before him, walking on the same ground.  

Ronan’s knees went slack. He lent against the wall, so that he wouldn’t crumble to the floor. Eliot smiled at him, maybe the first real smile since that damned battle and he motioned for Ronan to follow him, the promise in his eyes making Ronan’s knees go softer yet. 

......

Eliot curled around Ronan, his lips hovering over Ronan’s neck. Ronan wasn’t sure how or when they had moved from the shower room to Eliot’s quarters and the bed, but he could recount with small details the next half hour. Eliot wasn’t a gentle lover. Not that Ronan had any experience with gentle, or had ever really wanted it.  But tonight he’d been gentle, tender in a way that Ronan couldn’t describe. It wasn’t physical tenderness, but rather a vibration of souls. Ronan could feel in his heart that the world had stopped not only for him, but for Master as well. Eliot had looked at Ronan as if there were no one else on the planet but the two of them.

“I’m glad you’re back, my boy,” Eliot whispered and the words felt as if they went right to Ronan’s soul. “We have a lot to do and I need you.” Eliot turned Ronan around and the emerald of his eyes sparked with dangerous fire in the darkness of the room.

“I will do everything for you, you know that, Master.” Ronan believed every one of the words he said. He had already experienced what he was capable of for his master. At Eliot’s orders and on his will, Ronan would be unstoppable.

Eliot gave a short nod. “I know.” The cadence of master’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, but there was steadiness and sureness to it and it speared through Ronan, reaching his core. “Now I know exactly what you are capable of, Ronan.” Eliot sat up and pulled Ronan with him so that they were facing each other. “You, my sword, will inspire fear in the hearts of all who dare betray us.” Eliot touched Ronan’s cheek with the tip of his fingers for just a short second, leaving a line of fire behind. There was silence between them for what seemed like an eternity. Master was studying him and Ronan waited. “Sometimes I forget how young you still are.” Master’s thumb caressed the side of Ronan’s face, his eyes never leaving Ronan.

Ronan knew his expression betrayed his surprise. He wasn’t young. Young wasn’t the number of years that had passed since birth. Young was innocence and naiveté. Young was chasing impossible ideals. Ronan wasn’t any of those things and he’d never been. Master was, in many ways, younger than Ronan. He still believed. Believed in things that never were and could never be, but Ronan would kill and die to make sure Master continued believing. 

“I will never forget what you’ve done for me, Ronan. I will never forget what you were able to do. I know I kept you away since we returned, but it’s in the past now.” Master captured Ronan’s face in his hands. “I was wrong, Ronan, and you were right. We can’t trust them. Now we know that. Now we know that beside the enemy that we face every day, there is one hiding behind our backs. We are going to fight that enemy. We are going to bring them down. We will give our brothers the revenge they deserve, and we will give our people what was promised and denied for so long. My ancestors created this country, and I’ll be damned if I’ll allow some cowardly, arrogant vermin to take it all away. There is no one else to fight this battle, and I need you by my side.”

“Always, Master,” Ronan breathed the words out like a promise.

Eliot gave a sharp nod indicating he accepted Ronan’s words. “Tell me of Taurin, what did you think of him?”

“He is good, Master. I like him,” Ronan didn’t have Master’s fancy words to tell Eliot all he thought of Taurin, but Eliot didn’t need them. He had all the fancy words in the reports he received from others. Eliot knew with Ronan’s few words. 

Master smiled. “He is good.” Eliot’s smile grew broader. “You and Taurin, the ignorant fools will never see it coming. Things are going to change, Ronan,” Master said with satisfaction, as if he knew something no one else knew. “We are going to change it. I will take their stupid decoration. I will play the good, tame noble of their dreams until one day they realize it’s a nightmare, not a dream. With you and Taurin by my side, I will change this world. It will finally be what the founders of this country envisioned.”

Eliot said no more. He lay back, crossing his hands under his head and gazed at the ceiling that was now swallowed by darkness. Ronan remained seated for long minutes, studying his master, drinking at the power that emanated from the man and seemed to flood the room.

 

 


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot travels to Tamor.

**Chapter 31**

Eliot climbed the rocky path with the sure steps of a soldier. He knew Ronan was just a step behind, a silent shadow following on Eliot’s heels. 

He’d demanded a week’s leave, the need to see his father no longer something he could put aside or pretend didn’t exist. He would have promised much to get permission, but Lucius had asked for nothing, only nodded and signed the orders. 

Eliot no longer had the calm certainty of his position or identity. The first centurion’s threat had been real and Eliot had done his bidding. He’d flown to the capital to receive the Bronze Swords for bravery. Eliot had yielded, but the power struggle roiled under the surface. They both knew the future wouldn’t be calm. The nobility clawed and grappled to hang onto their power, but the Alliance was changing. The nobility stood over their own grave, even if they couldn’t see it. Eliot now saw them for what they were. They’d engineered the death of their own soldiers. He was supposed to be their future, and he was standing on the soil of his father. He was no pure blood noble, but a half breed Tamorian.

“It should be just over this hill.” Ronan thrust the map toward Eliot and tapped his finger at a mark.

Eliot nodded, picking up his pace to a near jog. Suren of Tamor, son of Rhun. Eliot tossed the name around his mind, conjuring up the pictures of the man from scraps of information. Born in Tamor’s capital to a middle class family, he’d spent his early life in the Alliance Capital, attending one of the best universities on a scholarship. He’djoined the equality movement in his second year. He’d been arrested numerous times, until one day, in his third year, he’d disappeared. He’d re-emerged on the police radar several years later in Tamor, as one of the leaders of national liberation movement. Now, the man was once again in hiding, suspected of inciting the recent demonstrations in Tamor. Somehow Ronan had managed to do what the Alliance police services hadn’t—found his hiding place. 

Eliot wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea to meet the man or even if he’d be welcome. He wore an Alliance uniform, and he was a Calatis. His father was a leader of Tamor’s underground freedom party. 

Eliot spotted the bright shine of a metallic roof. A rusted wire fence strung on windblown posts surrounded the dilapidated house and property. A truck without wheels and overgrown with weeds was parked against a shed.A dog barked near the house, and the rattle of the strained chain told Eliot it was struggling to reach them. A click of the safety being taken off a rifle reached Eliot despite the loud barking.

Eliot turned and looked in the direction of the sound. A woman in a long skirt stood several feet away holding a rifle. Eliot gave her an assessing look. Taking two Unbreakables by surprise took remarkable skill. 

“Get off my property,” she demanded in broken Unified. “Or I will shoot you like the dog that you are.”

“Don’t threaten my master, bitch.” Ronan materialized behind the woman and held a knife to her throat. 

Surprise flickered over her face, but the rifle never wavered. “Master? What do you know of master, you filthy hyenas? I’ll spread his brain over the ground before you can pull your knife over my throat. I’m not afraid to die if I know I have protected my master.”

“Oh, but sweetheart if you touch a hair on my master’s head,” Ronan cooed into her ear, “I’ll make sure you live long enough to see how I bleed your little prince there to death.” Ronan’s eyes flickered to the nearby bushes behind Eliot where Eliot had caught a glimpse of the sandy hair a second ago. 

“Ronan, stand down!”

“Not before she lowers her rifle.” 

“Ronan!” Eliot’s order was interrupted by another from the house.

“Aida, put your weapon down.”

Eliot could swear he’d just heard his own voice. He looked in the direction of the house, and his eyes met his own eyes from a stranger’s face. Without thinking, Eliot reached for his beret and took it off. 

“By the seven peaks,” the man standing in the door called out, starting toward Eliot. 

Eliot was rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but wait for the man to reach him. Aida ran toward him, and he leaned against her slight frame. A bandage covered his chest, and he walked with a pained stride. 

The man reached Eliot, stopping a foot short of him. His vivid green eyes searched Eliot’s face. Eliot stared back at the eyes that were so much like his. He was at loss of what to do. His plan had involved finding his father; he had failed to consider what happened after that. 

With the corner of his eye, he caught the sight of a young boy of no more than six years with enormous green eyes. The boy sprinted to his father and pressed against his leg, hiding behind the man, peering at Eliot from the safety of his father’s shadow. 

“Sabin’s boy? Eliot?” the man uttered in an unsteady voice, his hand reaching for Eliot’s face, but stopping before his fingers could touch him.

Eliot nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. 

“My boy.” There was awe and disbelief in the man’s voice, the words half a question, half an affirmation. 

Eliot was unable to even nod this time. He just stared at the man, hoping to know what he was doing here, hoping to find something to say to this stranger who had his eyes and his voice and felt so familiar and impossibly foreign at the same time. 

“You look just like her,” the man stuttered, his fingers closing the small distance and gently caressing Eliot’s cheek. 

Eliot couldn’t hold the man’s gaze anymore. His eyes fell on Aida. The woman studied Eliot with large hazel eyes, every trace of animosity gone from her face, replaced by curiosity and open warmth.

“Master, we should go inside,” she murmured, pressing against the older man’s side. “Someone might see you and you shouldn’t be on your feet.” Her eyes flickering around to take in their surroundings before they rested on Eliot, a plea and an apology clear in her gaze.

Eliot gave the slightest of nods and his father’s face lit up in relief. 

“Yes, my treasure.” His eyes never left Eliot as he spoke to his wife. He stumbled, catching his balance at the last minute.

 “Ronan!” The name wasn’t properly out of Eliot’s mouth before Ronan reached to help Suren to the house. 

 “Talin, come,” Eliot’s father ordered and the little boy ran after them, giving Eliot a bright-eyed and assessing look as he passed. 

Eliot looked after the small boy. That was his brother. Foreign thoughts and feelings stirred inside Eliot. He’d never had a sibling, never wished for a sibling, but now he felt the ties of kinship in a boy he’d met minutes ago.

Once inside the house, Suren motioned for Eliot to take a seat on a threadbare couch with upholstery that had been vivid, but was now faded with age. “Here, sit.”

Ronan hovered over Eliot for a second before Eliot tilted his head, indicating he should sit. Ronan slid down to sit by Eliot’s side, the alertness never leaving his body. 

Aida helped Eliot’s father into an equally old armchair, propping his feet up with a small stool. “We should change your bandage; you have bled again,” she said, crouching by the side of his chair and leaning her head to his leg. 

“I’ll be fine, girl, don’t worry about it now.” His hand caressed her hair in a soothing rhythm. He looked at Eliot for a long moment, his hand still playing with Aida’s thick, sandy hair. He said something to the boy in Tamorian. 

The boy nodded and looked over at Eliot. 

“He would like to sit with you, if you don’t mind.” 

“Of course not.”  

The little one ran to the couch, climbed onto Eliot’s lap, and pressed himself to Eliot’s chest. He inhaled the scent of the boy’s hair. This was his brother, an idea foreign to him. He’d grown up in a big family with regular gatherings of distant aunts, uncles and cousins, and every single one of them felt like nothing more than an absolute stranger whose name Eliot happened to know. It was he and his mother in a sea of unpleasant strangers who shared nothing but a family name. 

 “Talin is special.” Suren’s eyes ran over the young boy with so much love that it hurt Eliot to know he’d never had that gaze directed at him. “Like you are.” His eyes were on Eliot now before sliding to Ronan. “I think your bond mate might be more comfortable at your feet.”

The words took Eliot by surprise, making his entire body tense. He should have known this was a bad idea.

“I’m fine where I am,” Ronan snarled before Eliot had a chance to respond. 

Suren’s eyes darkened for a fraction of second before they cleared and switched to Aida at his feet

“Bring us some refreshments, my soul. They must be parched from the hike. The boy will help you.”

“Like fuck I will.”

“Ronan,” Eliot’s voice cracked off the walls, echoing in the half empty room. The little boy pressed tighter against his chest, seeking shelter there. 

Ronan looked shattered. It was that look that Eliot hated. The one where he knew Ronan would rather be prostrated before him begging his forgiveness, debasing himself to Eliot. “Go!” he ordered with a jerk of his head, and Ronan jumped to obey.

Aida stood up and disappeared deeper into the house with Ronan at her back.

“Eliot, I’m not a very traditional man, but this is my house and I am a master. He cannot challenge me like that.”

“He is not a serf to be ordered around.”

“He is a Blessed in a house of a Tamorian master. You both are Blessed of Tamor.”

“I am hardly of Tamor, Father. You never gave me that chance.” The words and the anger in them took Eliot by surprise. 

He’d called this man father. He hadn’t been sure he could ever see this man as such, but the words had spilled from his mouth.

“Son, Eliot,” the man amended at the dark gaze from Eliot. “Leaving you and your mother was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I would have given you nothing but pain. You had a chance at a better life without me as your father.” His voice was thick with pain and Eliot could feel it radiating from him. “You have no idea what it feels to a shinzlan to leave a child behind. I could have more easily cut my kidney out than cut you off. All these years I had a hollow space in my soul that was your place.” Tears filled his father’s voice and clouded his eyes.

 “I know that,” Eliot admitted, putting his chin over the boy’s head “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

Suren shook his head. “No, you had every right. I owe you an explanation.” He fell silent. “I knew what my name would do to you. If there was one thing your grandfather was right about, it was that I had an obligation to protect you, to give you the best life you could possibly have and that wasn’t by my side.”

Aida chose that moment to bring in a pitcher filled with thick red liquid and glasses. She filled the glasses and served Eliot and Suren before extending one to Ronan who stood by the door unwilling to enter the room.

Talin looked at Eliot expectantly as he tried to bring the glass to his lips.

“Would you like some?” Eliot asked not sure if the boy would understand him. The bobbing of the blond head told him the boy understood fine.

“Your bandages need changed; stop being so stubborn,” Aida, pleaded her case once more. “Master, don’t deny me my right to care for you.” She dropped down in front of Suren and pressed her forehead to his knees.

“Go on, my soul.” His hand rested on her head once more.

Eliot felt uncomfortable, yet unable to take his eyes off the scene, fascinated by it. Talin pushed the glass away, nudging it toward Eliot and breaking Eliot’s gaze. He smiled at the boy and sipped the contents of the glass. He had no idea what it was, but it tasted good--sweet and sour at the same time. 

Aida rose and moved toward the kitchen again. Ronan stepped aside to make room for her, handing her his empty glass.

There was an awkward silence in the room and Eliot was grateful for the distraction when Aida came in with a bowl of hot water and clean bandages. They had better medical care in the field under exploding bombs. 

“Let me help, ma’am.” Eliot set the little boy down and crouched by his father’s side. “I’ve seen enough of these to know what to do.” 

She nodded, taking her hands away. Eliot caught a shadow of discomfort on her face. Before he could apologize for unintentionally intruding, Suren spoke up, stroking her cheek gently.

“Don’t call her ma’am, it makes her uncomfortable. Her name is Aida.”

Eliot studied the couple in front of him, watching as a silent conversation unfolded in front of his eyes. His fascination was cut short as the little boy crouched by his side and extended his neck to peer at the deep wound. Eliot had to smile at the concentration on the boy’s face. After a long moment of studying the wound, the boy tilted his head to look at Eliot, trust filling the boy’s eyes. He gave the boy a reassuring smile and examined the wound.

“A sniper?” 

He’d assumed his father had been wounded in the general disorder that had broken out in the streets of the Tamorian capital several days before as the people had gone out to celebrate the day of establishment of the Third and last independent Tamorian kingdom. As always the nationalists and the separatists had commemorated the day with protests, but this year things had gone wrong, and everything had turned into chaos. The Alliance forces were blaming the clashes on the separatists.

“We were peacefully marching,” Aida spat in anger. “We have that right! And they shot him like he was…” She didn’t finish; her jaw clenched spasmodically. 

“They made me out to be an enemy of the Alliance.” Suren laughed dryly. 

Eliot was still shocked. He had no idea snipers had been used against Tamorians, their own citizens, inside Alliance borders, unarmed people. His mind reeled from the idea, as the rational part of his brain supplied he should have expected it. If the Alliance could betray their soldiers on a battlefield, what was an order to shoot on their citizens? 

“Enemy?” Was all he could say.

His father must have interpreted it the wrong way. “I’m no enemy of the Alliance, son. If anything I am perhaps one of its supporters. All I want is to see the values and the ideas written in the Constitution upheld. Tamor has the same rights as everyone else. It’s time we were allowed out from under the conqueror’s boots.” 

Eliot shook his head. “Using snipers against our own people. That’s not what I signed up for.” His hand tightened around the bandages. Eliot turned to look at Aida. “I wouldn’t have blamed you for pulling that trigger.” 

“I wouldn’t have pointed the rifle at you if I had known who you were.” She blushed. “I just saw the uniform and panicked. I didn’t even realize you were Unbreakables. Unbreakables are known for their honor. They wouldn’t have come after a wounded man.” 

“How long before they take our honor as well?” Eliot muttered, prodding around the wound with his fingers. “You should see a doctor. This is not a superficial wound.”

“He can’t go to a hospital,” she interjected. “It’s a gunshot wound; they will have to call in the police.”

“Let them! In fact, let them try to explain a sniper wound on one of our own citizens.” 

“Eliot, they have issued an arrest order in my name. They are blaming us for the disorder and the death of four people during the demonstrations,” Suren interrupted in a soft tone. 

“I will not accept this,” Eliot announced, leaping to his feet. “I will call in every single journalist willing to listen and I will—”

“You will do nothing.” The force of Suren’s voice took Eliot by surprise. His father had pushed himself off the armchair and was standing head to head with Eliot. “I haven’t sacrificed the joy of watching you grow up to ruin it all. You are an Alliance Centurion, and you are Calatis, and that is how it will remain. You will not throw it all away.” 

“I won’t stand by and watch them destroy you, destroy my blood.” 

“Protecting this family, including you, is my job.” Suren raised his voice. “Are you challenging me?” 

“What?” 

“Eliot,” Suren said, the anger gone from his voice. He sank back into the chair and looked at Eliot. “In families like ours when a son extends his protection to his father, it means he challenges his father’s position as the protector, the head of household.” 

Eliot knew he was staring. “Archaic comes to mind.” 

His father laughed. “Not really, you get too many shinzlans under one roof, and you need to find a way of making them behave.” 

“We have military discipline and exhaustion for that,” Eliot said smiling as he knelt before his father to finish examining the wound. “We need antiseptics,”

“You can use these.” Aida extended a small vial to Eliot. “It’s an herbal concoction.” 

“No, we need something stronger,” Eliot shook his head, examining the angry red of the wound edges. “Ronan, do you have anything in your pack?” 

“Yes, Master.”

Suren said something to the little boy, who sprinted out. 

“Talin we’ll get your pack. He will be happy to know he did something for you,” Suren explained. “Just show him you appreciated his service.” 

“Service?” Eliot almost choked on the word.

“Talin is a shinzella, the one who will bond and serve a shinzlan. Don’t tell me you couldn’t feel it,” Suren explained. 

“He's a baby!”

“You don’t grow into being a Blessed. You are born one.” 

“But you said he was like me,” Eliot said, studying the man in front of him.

“Like you, like me, and like his mother, blessed by the spirits of our Seven Peaks. Blessed to serve his people, to shield and protect them.” 

“He is a baby,” Eliot muttered, repeating his earlier words.

“Eliot, you are of the First Province. I understand that you have different views from ours.” He fell silent as Eliot cleaned the wound. “I was surprised that you didn’t feel him.”

“I’m not sure how I was supposed to feel him,” Eliot mumbled, pressing a hot compress to the wound. 

“How does he affect you?” 

“What do you mean? He’s young; he’s my blood. I feel protective.” Eliot paused for a second. “I’m an Unbreakable Centurion; I feel protective with nearly everyone.”

“Did he put you on edge, or did he soothe you?”

Eliot stared at his father. He had no context for this conversation. 

“That’s what a shinzella does for a shinzlan.” Suren smiled. “He felt your disquiet; that’s why he wanted to be by your side. It’s as much of an instinct for him, as it is for me and you to go for anyone’s throat who approached what is ours with intent to harm.”

Talin returned dragging the pack behind him. Ronan took it from the boy and dug into it. 

“Thank you, kiddo.” Eliot patted the boy on his head. Talin melted under his hand, looking at Eliot with eyes full of worship. 

Ronan hopped to his feet and came to crouch by Eliot’s side with a first aid box in his hands.

Eliot cleaned and dressed the wound, while Aida stood at the back of her mate, her hands maintaining a tight hold on Suren’s shoulders. Talin crouched once again by Eliot’s side and watched the proceedings with clever eyes filled with concentration. 

“I never hoped for this day, Eliot.” His father’s fingers touched the crown of his head gently. 

“Which day? When an Unbreakable centurion patches a wound from an Alliance sniper?” Eliot had meant his words as a gentle tease, but they came out with hurt and anger.

Suren let out a short laugh. “Sulking is hardly becoming of a Tamorian master or an Unbreakable centurion,” he added, appeasing Eliot as he caught his glare. “I’m glad you came.” 

Eliot tightened the clips on the bandages to secure it in place. “Done,” he announced, standing up and pulling Ronan after him.

“Thank you.” Suren caught Eliot’s hand. 

“You should take this twice a day, sir.” Ronan handed the bottle of antibiotics to Aida, his eyes on Suren.

“Thank you,” Suren repeated, capturing Aida’s hand over the bottle of antibiotics. “I truly thought I was never going to see you.”

Eliot sat back onto the worn couch and motioned Ronan to sit as well. 

“It was Ronan who found you. Mother never told me anything about you, only that you were a Blessed of Tamor.” 

Suren nodded. “She gave me your name as I held you for the first and last time. After that we parted ways for good.” Suren fell silent for a long minute. “Smart as always, she named you Sanders, an ancient name from the Second where green eyes were less scandalous than in her own lineage. Everybody assumed your father was of the Second Province.”

“I assumed that for years.” 

“I knew nothing of you for years, even though I tried to keep an eye on the Calatis name, but I couldn’t do much without gaining unwanted attention. And then I saw you, an Unbreakable centurion, the spitting image of your mother.” The man’s eyes turned dreamy. “I could hardly believe my eyes. My boy, a Tamorian Blessed and a centurion in the Unbreakables. So fitting. It was as if the spirits themselves had guided your steps. A true son of Tamor.” 

“I’m not sure how being an Unbreakable relates to Tamorian blood.” 

Suren smiled, his eyes burning with bright sparks of emerald. “That’s because you don’t know our history. In fact even most of our people don’t know our history.” Suren stopped and studied Eliot. “Do you know the Unbreakables’ history?” 

“General Philipos summoned the first Unbreakables almost one thousand years ago to defend Komaga,” Eliot cited the passage from the history books. 

“Uhum,” Suren conceded. “It happened after the battle of Kirpak, when Philipos of Komaga defeated Tamor and claimed Kirpak as part of Komaga for several years in the short lived treaty of Sidar. Our Band of Blessed warriors were almost annihilated after holding off a numerically superior enemy for an entire winter.”

Eliot listened fascinated. 

“When Philipos saw the courage and honor with which the Tamorian warriors fought, when he saw the loyalty of the Blessed warriors, he was bewitched by it.” Suren took a deep breath and went on with his story. “After the battle when he returned in victory to the Komaga capital he asked the king to grant him the power to create a new kind of troops, the Unbreakables, in the image of the Blessed warriors of Tamor. The pride of the Alliance is an inspiration from Tamor.” A strange light burnt in Suren’s eyes.  

Eliot looked down at his joined hands, assimilating this new information. 

“The troops were formed only to be destroyed in the second battle of Kirpak by the renewed forces of Tamor under Prince Eldwin. According to legend, Eldwin refused to execute the surrendering centurion of the Unbreakables, claiming honor deserved honor. He released him in the second Treaty of Sidar. His honor and his mercy has haunted us for centuries.”

“We dishonored Tamor,” Eliot murmured. He knew the history of his ancestor’s final conquest of Tamor. Taurin was circumspect about his views of Calatis and Alliance history, but Eliot could read the sharp look away and muted responses.

“I’ll get started with dinner.” Aida’s soft voice interrupted Eliot’s thoughts. 

“I’ll help you,” Ronan said, leaping to his feet.

Cooking wasn’t one of Ronan’s skills. In fact, the danger Ronan posed while handling a knife extended to the kitchen as well. 

“No hand-to-hand combat demonstration with knives, I promise, Master,” Ronan said, grinning brightly, no doubt sensing his master’s unease.

“And no target practice either,” Eliot growled.

“Got it, sir.”

“Don’t expect him to be much help, Aida.” Eliot shot a smile at her. 

“Don’t worry, sir, I‘m good at putting the unskilled to work.” Her smile was crooked and boyish, illuminating her entire face. 

“Hey,” Ronan protested immediately. “I’m not unskilled. My skills lie elsewhere.”

Aida said nothing, but she didn’t hide her snort or her brief look of overblown suffering. Eliot didn’t know what to think of her. She was Suren’s shadow one minute, and the next she was a young and vivacious woman. 

“They’ll survive each other,” Suren said with a small smile on his lips. “It might be good for both of them.”

Talin, who had been playing with a set of carved wooden animals abandoned them and went to his father, crawling onto his lap and encircling his little arms around the man’s neck. 

Suren murmured something, arranging the boy so he wasn’t touching the wound. 

“Mom?”A voice carried inside from the porch as a young girl walked in. She froze at the sight of Eliot. Her hazel eyes widened and her body tightened in readiness to fight. 

“Lilah, this is your brother, Eliot,” Suren said, his voice colored with something Eliot couldn’t understand. 

“The Eliot?” she asked in surprisingly smooth Unified. 

Suren nodded. 

Her cold gaze ran over Eliot before she turned her head toward her father, addressing him in Unified.

“And you didn’t find it suspicious that your long lost son, who happens to be an Alliance Centurion, dropped onto your doorstep now?” 

The cold tone and the challenge in her voice set Eliot’s teeth on edge. 

“Enough, Lilah, don’t turn our disagreements against Eliot. He’s your brother.” Suren’s tone was calm, yet forceful. 

“Yeah, whatever, it’s not like you’re going to listen to anyone,” she said in the trademark huff of teenagers everywhere and stormed out. 

“And you allow this?” Eliot couldn’t hide his incredulity.

Suren laughed at that, a rich, heartfelt laugh. “Children are not troops, Centurion.” He looked at Eliot, his eyes shining. “You can’t command and lead them. All you can do is guide them and hope that you they’ll listen.” He fell silent, leaning forward to kiss Talin on the top of his head. “She’s struggling,” Suren rubbed Talin’s cheek. “It’s hard to be of my family and feel none of it. It’s like being deprived of all your senses and left to find your way alone on the edge of a cliff.It’s worse for her, since she spends a lot of time away from Tamor. She lives with one of my brothers in the Third Province.” 

There was a pain, well disguised, but still palpable. 

“I am sure many see Tamor’s tradition as being dated” Eliot said, trying to offer whatever comfort he could.

“And maybe they are,” Suren said, directing his eyes to the window. “But I am who I am. It’s not a choice. We come from a long line of Blessed, Eliot. There are few families like ours, with a shinzlan in almost every generation, especially now when such families are almost extinct.” His father fell silent once more. 

“There are others in our family?”

“Your grandfather,” Suren said. “His father before him and many before. I knew you had the Blessing from the second I held you in my arms.” 

“You said there are not many families like ours?” Eliot couldn’t help but voice the question. 

“No, never were. But now, there are fewer of the Blessed. It’s as if we are fading away.” Suren turned his gaze back to Eliot. “Many say it’s because we betrayed our spirits, that we are cohabiting with the enemy.”

“The Alliance,” Eliot said, his voice tensing. “I understand we weren’t always the good guys, but we aren’t all bad. And there are a lot worse out there.” His eyes held his father’s gaze.

Suren shook his head. “I said some, Eliot. It is what it is. There is no future without the Alliance. All I am asking is for real equality, not this façade that hides patronization and humiliation of my people.” Suren’s voice was alight with passion. “And as sure as I see the mountains rise to the sky I don’t believe in mystical spirits and their gifts.” 

Eliot’s eyebrows rose on their own accord. Everything the man had said until now was tied into the ancient Tamorian religion, and now he proclaimed himself a nonbeliever. 

“Eliot.” Suren shook his head, seeing the confusion. “I’m a Tamorian Blessed. My duty to my country and my people is to trust in tradition and follow it. But I am also a biologist. I don’t need magic to understand why our mountains have bred Blessed. I also know the Blessed aren’t exclusive to Tamor.” He leaned forward, his green eyes boring into Eliot. “The Blessed are everywhere; only Tamor made them the pinnacle of our culture, seeing a blessing where everyone else saw danger. Your culture calls it charisma and leadership. We call it the fire and sword of the shinzlan. You revere it and fear it, just like Tamorians. Only your culture absurdly believes it can be taught and honed with practice.You celebrate the shinzlan’s power while you scorn the one who contains his fire and feeds it at the same time. The shinzella is dismissed as a weak and useless creature and forced into pretending to chase the ideals of the one that holds the sword and burns with fire.”

“You want me to believe some of us are born to lead and others to follow. That’s elitism, Father. That’s Kalmacia, and you complain of Alliance injustice!”

“I’m not asking you to believe in it, I’m asking you to accept what you see with your own eyes. You and Ronan are not the same. Ronan will never want to put a falcon on his shoulder.”

“Ronan is a brilliant soldier and he could be a great officer.”

“I don’t doubt his skills as a warrior, but he is no officer. He is born to feed your fire. He is born to walk in your shadow and clear your path.”

“You sound like Grandfather,” Eliot accused, leaping to his feet and pacing the room “The great Calatis born to have the world at our feet. Why don’t you two clasp hands and forge an alliance to dominate the world?”

Suren smiled, his eyes following Eliot as he walked across the room. 

“Your Grandfather is one of those who thinks money is the blessing and the gift of the shinzlan. He is wrong. He rules only with the power of his name and money. The service granted to him is slavish and forcefully taken. There is no honor in it.”

Eliot gave Suren a look and a shake of his head. They would never agree. He was his mother’s son.

“You are young, Eliot.”

Ronan with plates and glasses interrupted Suren’s words.

Dinner was a colorful and animated affair, something Eliot had never seen in his own family. The table was laid with unexpected richness, as if food had appeared magically and in abundance. Ronan closed his eyes and groaned as he inhaled the mouth-watering aroma rising from the covered dishes. 

Lilah glared at Eliot as she pulled her chair away from the table and sat down, not happy about something.

“You’re not going to kneel for dinner too, are you?” she challenged her mother when she came to stand by her husband’s side.

 “For someone who preaches equality and tolerance you’re words are filled with judgment. You need to respect other’s beliefs and choices.” Suren said.

“Choice isn’t in her vocabulary.” 

“You will not talk to her in that manner. I allow you the freedom to battle with me, but you will not argue with your mother or your brother as they will never argue back. It’s vile and cruel and lacks in honor.”

“Allow me?” Lilah huffed, trying and failing to maintain her bravado.

“Yes, allow you. I don’t smother you with our traditions. And, my dear daughter, never make the mistake of thinking I wouldn’t win the battle if we went at it for real.”

She shot him an angry look, refusing to back down. 

 “Now,” Suren spoke, his voice returning to the gentle cadence of before, but also maintaining the command in it. “Family meals are a time for enjoying each other’s company, not for fighting.”

Eliot could have come up with dozens of reason to contradict that statement. Aida tried to sink down at Suren’s side, but he stopped her by putting his hand over her wrist.

“Allow our daughter her blindness, my love. Join us around the table.”

Lilah stole a surreptitious look at her parents and offered a small smile to her father.

“Yes, my beautiful child, I’m allowing you this small victory.” The smile was playful as he held her gaze. “I won’t teach you to be more accepting if I’m not accepting of your beliefs. I can only hope you will understand this lesson one day.” 

The rest of dinner was drowned in an easy teasing camaraderie with conversation and laughter bursting in-between the clatter of plates and cutlery. The animated meal was warm and surreal to Eliot, a complete contrast to his own experience with cold and polite conversation around a formal table.           

 

 

The sun was setting behind the high crests of the surrounding mountains when Eliot walked out into the yard. He looked at the massive rocks shooting into the skies, their snow dusted tops disappearing into the clouds. Below valleys of lush green unfolded in the rose colored light of dusk. It was a beautiful country, the towering mountains cradling and shielding the soul. Eliot wondered what it would have been like to grow up among these majestic mountains, always in their shadow. 

Eliot’s mind wandered to Taurin, his very own mountain warrior. Taurin was going to make a great centurion one day and Eliot knew he would have the absolute loyalty of the fierce Blessed warrior. Taurin was going to be one of the greatest Unbreakables who ever walked the earth, the Blessed warrior out of the Tamorian legends. Eliot knew that; Lucius and Aquilla and everyone else in the Unbreakables knew that. Ronan knew that. His boy had followed Taurin alone and into hostile territory without a murmur. After all the mulish stubbornness and refusal to leave the Third Centuria and become a Primi, Ronan had already made it clear he’d follow Taurin into the Primi. Taurin was ready and Ronan would follow. 

“Eliot?” His father’s voice interrupted Eliot’s thoughts. 

“Father?” The word was foreign and odd on his lips. “I’m not sure you should be walking around.” Eliot turned around and looked at his father, who stood in the door. 

“It’s fine.” Suren waved his hand and made his way out of the house and to the stairs leading down to the yard where Eliot was standing, leaning on one of the pillars supporting the roof. “Your boy gave me something. I’m finally pain free,” he said with a blissful expression on his face. “In fact I’m not sure I feel my body right now.” 

“What did the brat give you?” 

“I have no idea. He said it was for pain. Should I be worried?”

“No, not really.” Eliot waved his hand. “He’s quite the pharmacist and half of it involves illegal substances.”

Suren laughed under his breath. “I doubt you’re all that disapproving.” 

“Not when I’m the one howling in pain.” Eliot smiled easily.

Suren chuckled before his eyes fixed on Eliot. The smile slipped from his face, leaving a worried and assessing expression in its place. 

“What’s on your mind?” Suren’s voice was as soft just as the hand on Eliot’s back.

Eliot gave an abrupt shake of his head and trained his eyes on the distant mountains. 

“Eliot, let it go.” 

“Let what go?” Eliot heard the growl in his voice as he turned around to face his father.

“You know what.” Suren’s voice took a sharper edge. “You can’t get involved, Eliot.”

“Are you asking me to turn my back on you? On my blood?” Eliot could feel his anger rise.

“Eliot.” Suren’s voice softened. “I’m not telling you such a thing. But you cannot be seen aiding this family, especially now when I am considered a dangerous separatist, a traitor.”

“That’s precisely why I can’t turn a blind eye. I can help, and you ask me not to.”

“Eliot, I can handle this.” Suren captured Eliot’s hand. “Things will settle down. I know what to do. This isn’t the first time I’ve been in the center of Alliance Internal Affairs’ attention. I can handle this,” he repeated, pronouncing the words one by one.

“I am an Unbreakable centurion. I don’t leave men behind,” Eliot said, his jaw set in stubborn determination. “I don’t choose the way of a coward!”

“I’m not asking you to.” Suren’s voice filled with authority. “I’m telling you to leave things alone. Your mother and I sacrificed a lot to assure you have the life you deserve. I will not allow you to throw it all away.”

Eliot let out an angry growl, his hands tightening into fists by his sides. 

“Don’t you growl at me.” Suren’s voice was so full of strength and power that Eliot almost physically felt its punch. “Eliot, you are not alone anymore.” Suren’s voice softened, his hand resting on Eliot’s shoulder. “Your men need you. Most importantly your mate needs you. If you don’t care about your future and your career then at least think of Ronan. The Calatis power is what keeps him here.” His father’s gentle voice cooed in his ear. His warm hand rubbed at Eliot’s back, making his insides roar in a turmoil of emotions. 

“It’s just…” Eliot shook his head. “I can’t leave you behind.” He could hear the pleading in his voice. “I can’t,” Eliot insisted. “Talin,” he uttered and fell silent once again, not knowing how to express what he felt. 

“I know, Eliot.” Suren’s forehead rested against the back of Eliot’s head. “He is a shinzella, and he is blood. The Tamorian blood in you calls to you, demands you to do your duty, but it’s not yours yet. Talin is under my protection. If I fail then you will find him and take him and all the family under your protection. For now, you must accept my position as head of this household.”

“So what do I do?” Eliot asked, his tone lost.

 “You go and live your life. You can’t stay, Eliot.”

The words, as gentle as they were, burnt a hole in Eliot’s soul.

“You want me gone?”

Suren shook his head. “No, Eliot. I want you by my side. I want you within easy reach. I want to watch the sacred bond between you and your bond mate strengthen and thrive, protected by the shadows of our mountains. I want you to guide your sister in a world that is foreign to us. I want you by Talin’s side when he is given to his bond mate.” Suren’s hands captured Eliot’s face, and his emerald eyes searched Eliot’s. “But I can’t have it. I want the best life for you, for your bond mate. He is family now. I need to know that if I fail, there will be someone to shield the family. And for that I will have to ask you to stay away from us, Eliot.”

“Maybe there will come other times.” Eliot avoided looking his father in the eye, his voice breaking with emotion. 

“I hope so, but for now…”

“It’s best if I stay away,” Eliot finished. 

“That’s my brave boy.” Suren leaned forward and kissed Eliot’s forehead. “My centurion.” There was pride and awe in the man’s voice that almost made Eliot drop to his knees and let go of the burning need to cry. 

“I will always follow you,” Suren said. “I will always know where you are.” 

“And if you need me. If the family needs me.”

“We will let you know. That’s a promise.” The man’s green eyes rested on Eliot full of promise. 

“I need to know you are doing well. I cannot pretend you don’t exist anymore.”

Suren nodded. “We’ll find a way. We will always be with you and by your side. We are your strength, Eliot. Just look for us when you need us.”

“Can I stay tonight?” Eliot hated the uncertainty in his voice. 

“Of course, my boy.” Suren kissed Eliot on the brow. “I want at least one evening with my son. If it’s all I’m going to take to my grave, then so be it, but I need to have at least that.”

“I refuse to accept it.” Eliot shook his head. “I am an Unbreakable, nothing is impossible!” 

Suren smiled and nodded. “That you are, and for now the impossible you need to do is leave us behind.”  

Eliot turned his gaze to the proud crests of the mountains. He didn’t turn around to see his father walk back into the house; his eyes were transfixed on the rocky crests of the massive, stony giants. The mountains were eerily beautiful in the twilight. The sun had already set behind one of the peaks, the only testimony of its existence the slightly pink coloring of the sky. Soon, the darkness started to settle more firmly over them, first, bright stars appearing on the dark sky. Shortly the blackness would swallow everything around and the skies would burst with a myriad of sparkling lights. Eliot still remembered the bouquets of stars that decorated the Tamorian sky from his last visit to Tamor. He’d never seen anything like that before visiting this mountainous country. Back home in the capital by the seaside, the bright lights and the clouds of smoke and mist dampened the stars. Here, the silence and the darkness were all consuming; here the brightness of stars was almost within human reach. At the deepest hours of the night high in the mountains, the sky felt as if it were resting on his shoulders, making him believe that he could touch the stars just by reaching his hand out.  

 

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

Taurin dumped his kit on his bunk and started to sort through the jumble of equipment and clothing from his two week deployment with the Primi. He wasn’t the only sniper in the Unbreakables, but it was starting to feel like it. In the months since his return to the Third Centuria after the demands to get his head together, he’d been attached to the Second or the Primi as often as he was in the Third. Cyrus, his spotter, had started to call them nomads and had one night sewn a collage of shoulder patches from each unit on their uniforms. That had gotten a laugh from the men as they’d huddled in a tent during a near hurricane. At least in snow the right gear kept you warm and dry. Nothing kept them out of the damn rain.

Still licking too many recent wounds, mass deployment of a centuria or larger force had been placed on hold, and only contubernium sized forces were being deployed for delicate special operations. As far as Taurin was concerned, this was the mission of the Unbreakables. Without artillery and heavy armaments, they were sitting ducks in a conventional battle, and whoever the idiots were in the Defense Ministry and the High Command who kept using them for cannon fodder should be sent on a one-way trip to the enemy. They’d probably be met with a brass band and a ticker tape parade. Nothing like giving Kalmacia victories.

“Snow warrior, sniper, boy wonder back with us lowly grunts from the Third.”

Taurin turned to see his roommate and Eliot’s second come in with his usual clatter and dirt dropping from his boots.

“Good trip?” Sisera tossed his helmet on his bed. “It’s got be better than this crap,” Sisera said with a groan and bent to unlace his boots. “Fucking training!”

“We came back alive.”

“Talkative as always.” Sisera snorted and dumped the sand from his boots. “Don’t you razz me about the mess, Lieutenant. I’ll clean it up even if I am the optio of the most cranky ass centurion in the history of the world. I’ll keep my lowly lieutenant roommate happy.” Sisera flashed Taurin a grin and flopped backwards on the bed. “Gods it’s good to see your face—glaring hazel eyes and all.”

“Bad?” Taurin asked.

Sisera was probably the closest thing Taurin had to a friend. With Cyrus or Otho Taurin was the superior officer, and with Otho there was the unease that the boy wanted in Taurin’s bed and maybe at his feet. Sisera had made it clear within the first week that he had no romantic interest in Taurin.

Sisera was a talker, and maybe that was why they worked together. He didn’t seem to mind that Taurin said little. He wanted to fill in the details anyway, and Taurin was sure he’d soon know all the trials and tribulations of the Third.

“You know how the centurion gets. My guess is that he blames himself for his capture and his loss of men and the fact that the brass gave him the Bronze Sword for gallantry just has him thoroughly pissed off. It’s like they keep rubbing salt in the wounds. Usually it would’ve passed by now, but every time some new journalist shows up to take pictures of the hero, he about loses it. We’re getting our asses trained off. I’d rather fight a tank with a butter knife than do another day training. The men are starting to get restless, and they aren’t as afraid of me as they are you. I don’t have that icy glare thing down. My eyes are too dark, warm caramel the sweet lasses tell me.”

“You’re more one of them.”

“Stop with the foreigner shit.” Sisera grabbed his boot and winged it at Taurin’s head. “Between you me and all the sand that I dumped all over the floor, I’m not too arrogant or too stupid to know you’ve got future centurion written all over you. Why else do you think you’re off with the Primi or the Second all the time? They’re vetting you, snow boy.”

“More likely they’re trying to make sure I don’t repeat the incident in Shirak.”

“The infamous baby,” Sisera said with a grin. “I would’ve taken the whip for that and you get sent on a vacation.” Sisera held up his hand to stop Taurin’s response. “I’m not complaining. You were a real asshole before; now you’re just half an asshole. Never thought I’d say it, but I like you. I’ve given up trying to understand you, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s going on in the big brains of our centurions. I’m a place holder until the officer corps is not in shambles. This is it for me. I’ll either die or retire an optio. You’re going places, kid.” Sisera flapped his hand at Taurin. “Yeah, I know I’m only a couple years older, but being an optio makes you old before your time. You want the job?”

“I’m Tamorian.”

“Sometimes you’re too dense for words.” Sisera swung himself upright and looked at Taurin, amusement still flickering in his eyes, but also the edge that made him a killer. “They want you, so shut your trap with excuses. They aren’t racists.”

Taurin turned away, knowing he was being rebuked and maybe rightly so. He’d been given second and third chances, and he acted like an ungrateful bastard.

“Don’t you pout on me.” Sisera’s hand settled on Taurin’s shoulder.

Taurin turned around, covering his automatic reaction to fight with a bland look.

“Shit!” Sisera lifted both his hands and stepped back. “Don’t take it that way.”

“Sorry,” Taurin said, trying to soften his features with a half smile as he struggled to settle the adrenaline in his body. He could see the hurt in Sisera’s face. He’d been offering complements and Taurin had taken them as insults. “Sorry,” Taurin said louder. “Old habit.”

“Let me have a crack at those bastards. I’d love to hear them scream,” Sisera said with false casualness.

“They’re mine.”

Taurin knew the menace in his voice had hit Sisera. He could see the quick breath and the almost invisible stiffening of his back in a man now warned of danger.

“Gods, I don’t want to be your enemy.”

Taurin tipped his head back and slapped the tightly pulled sheets of his bed with his hand. He was a disaster at this. No matter what he said it always seemed to be wrong.

“You aren’t.”

“Good, good.” Sisera’s voice was too happy, his smile frozen in a pretense of all was well.

“Sisera…” Taurin started, but fell back to sorting his clothes. He didn’t know what to say. 

“Taurin.” Sisera had crossed the two steps to Taurin’s bed and was crouched down on the floor, not on his knees, but obviously trying to make himself unthreatening and friendly. They were all trained in those techniques-- crouch when talking to woman and children, ingratiate yourself with the civilians. “You’re one of us now. Don’t you ever doubt it.” Sisera’s voice sped up. “I’ve fucked this up. I wanted to ask you to talk to our centurion. He likes you; he listens to you. His temper is bleeding all over the men. I know I’m his second, but it’s you he might listen to. He’s got us too close to the edge. He’s a good centurion.”

“Get up.”

“There you go. Ordering me around.” Sisera sprang to his feet.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Oh, stop it. You know the natural order of things.”

They both knew the banter was forced, but they both smiled. Taurin tossed a dirty towel from his pack at Sisera. “That’s right you’re my towel boy. Find the broom and sweep up the filth you left everywhere.”

“Aye, aye, my captain.” Sisera swung the towel around his neck. “You’ll talk to him?” he asked, all lightness gone from his voice again.

“I’ll try.” Taurin knew he had to make this right with Sisera. He smiled, forcing his voice to the bantering tone that he heard so often between the men. “I have to face the lion, and all I get in exchange is a clean floor. What about my laundry?”

“Nope,” Sisera said with a friendly shake of his head. “Be thankful I’m not making the lowly third sweep the floor.”

“Oh, I’m ever thankful. I’d take the floor over laundry any day.”

“You picked it, you live with it.”

“Picked it? I think I was ordered by my optio.” Taurin paused, his eyes casting to the window where he could only see the back of the barracks next to them and wishing he could see his mountains. “I’ll talk to him. I don’t have much influence.”

Sisera snorted. “Sometimes I wonder how you find the toilet in the morning; you’re oblivious to everything. He likes you; he listens to you. Don’t you even notice?”

“I guess not.”

“Idiot. Go talk to him.”

Taurin knew the centurion would be in his office at this time a day, filling out the endless and ever multiplying forms. The centurion lived, slept and worked with his men. Only the first centurion had a small house separate from the barracks. Taurin went down the hall and into the centurion’s office. The door was open, and as usual the men were staying well out of sight. A few had congregated in front of their barracks rooms, laughing and joking with each other. One of them lifted his eyebrows and grimaced as his eyes met Taurin’s, a certain sign that Eliot wasn’t in one of his sunnier moods.

“Taurin, I see you’re back.” Terse. Grim. Eliot’s eyes didn’t lift from the report he was reading.

“Yes, sir.”

Eliot dropped the report on his desk and looked up. He was thinner than the last time Taurin had seen him, and his eyes were set in deep shadows, showing nothing. “I read the report. You didn’t blow up anything, kick a high ranking officer of noble extraction in the balls, or defect to the enemy, so stop with the perfect soldier bullshit.”

“Sir.” Taurin walked the two steps to the desk and went to his knees. It was a stupid thing to do in the Alliance, especially with a man like Eliot who fought his own shinzella’s gift, but the anger and disquiet was too strong, This was a gift of his strength to Eliot, his guardian master. It belonged to Eliot.

“Get up. I’ve got enough people sucking up to me. I’ve had enough phony platitudes. I’ve had enough smiles followed by knives in the back.” Eliot reached for Taurin, jerking him from the floor. 

Taurin let himself be drawn to his feet. They were evenly matched in hand-to-hand combat, and sometimes Taurin would have fought. Eliot’s anger rode close to the surface, and a rousing fight could settle him, but now Eliot felt brittle and on edge. There was something else besides the anger and the grief that had been present since his capture and the bloody retreat of the centuria. 

Taurin knew Eliot had been away; their paths had hardly crossed since the mission in Tamor. Eliot never handled grief well, and for the son of the rich and famous, he resented his own publicity. Taurin knew the decoration for what Eliot described as getting beat up by the enemy and losing his own men hadn’t sat well, but this had gone on for too long. For Sisera to complain, there was more than anyone knew.

“Eliot, is there something I don’t know? Did something happen on leave?” Deference and duty was bred into Taurin. Asking the questions when those green eyes strove to remain guarded and fierce hurt Taurin’s throat. Shairng the burdens was different than dragging secrets from Eliot. This was prying.

“Something’s always happening. Lord so and so makes a fortune in stocks. Kalmacia threatens our coastal waters. We kill our own citizens.”

“Eliot.”

Eliot slapped the desk with his hand. Pens rattled and a folder fell with a cascade of papers. “Fucking paperwork. Do you know how much paperwork you generate being sent hither and thither?”

“That’s not my choice,” Taurin said, lowering his eyes in what he hoped was soothing deference.

“It’s not your fault. Maybe I should have just stayed on leave, as much good as I’m doing here. You’re here because I’m driving the men ragged. Sisera sent you. He quakes when I start shouting or grovels with idiotic apologies. You’re the only one who will stare at me with those hazel eyes of yours and silently tell me to get my shit together.”

“Sisera is concerned the men are being overtrained.”

“They’re Unbreakables, not kindergartners.”

“Centurion—“

“Yes, I know I am in a foul humor. You don’t have to tell me. I’ll ease up.”

Taurin bent to pick up the fallen papers that Eliot seemed to have forgotten.

“You’re not my servant.”

“I don’t mind, sir.”

“I do.” Eliot wrenched Taurin to his feet. “Leave them.”

“Eliot, if you want to fight, we can go spar. Fighting in your office is not the best idea. The men are already anxious.”

Eliot raked his fingers through his short hair.

“It’s the rich bastards who I want to strangle with my bare hands. You don’t owe me any blood. It’s not like Tamor hasn’t already bled enough.”

Eliot was enlightened or at least enlightened as far as the powerful in the Alliance, but these words sounded personal. He’d apologized for his ancestors in a circular and formal way and Taurin had accepted. Eliot wasn’t Augustus Calatis. He didn’t need to suffer for that lord’s crimes.

“Did you take leave in Tamor?”

Eliot’s eyes hardened and the faceless mask dropped over his features. “My personal life is my own, Lieutenant.”

“As you wish, sir, but I would be honored to show you Tamor.”

“Someday,” Eliot said with one of those false smiles he wore around people who he wanted to show nothing.

“Eliot, I was pyring. My apologies.” Taurin bowed his head, the formal apology of an Unbreakable and of a Tamorian Blessed.

“No.” Eliot shook his head. “You were being decent, and I was being the ass which I sure Sisera described in great detail.”

“Minor detail only,” Taurin quipped back, knowing Eliot was trying to break the tension, trying to apologize in his own way.

“Someday I’ll tell you. Just not now. Don’t ask.” Eliot’s green eyes sank into Taurin. 

“Yes, sir.”

 “You’ll never say it. I should know that by now—too polite to call me an ass.” Eliot gave Taurin a rueful grin Eliot smoothed his hand over the desk. He reached into his drawer and pulled out a small bottle of whiskey. “A drink?”

Taurin started to automatically say no but stopped himself. This was Eliot. He was his master, and he wanted to relax with a small drink. 

“You’re off duty for the night.”

Taurin nodded and took the small glass of bronze liquid. He knocked it back in one swallow, following Eliot’s example. 

“Better,” Eliot said refilling both their glasses and taking a small sip. He walked to the window and stared out into the emptiness of the desert. “I missed you when you were off with the Primi. There was so much I wanted to tell you, but now…”

“Eliot, what is it?”

Eliot shook his head. “I just wanted to rage at the injustices of the world. You know me, it’s nothing.”

There was more that Eliot wasn’t saying. Taurin could see it in the eyes that wouldn’t hold his own and in the tightness of Eliot’s jaw.

“Your mission was a great success,” Eliot said.

“We were lucky.”

“Gaius says you’re good and his judgment is sound.” Eliot turned back toward Taurin. “Lucius will tell you officially, but you can read between the lines. The head of the Primi almost always becomes centurion. I think I should be congratulating you.” Eliot held up his glass for Taurin to touch with his.

They both took a long swallow. Taurin was glad for the glass and the fiery distraction of the liquid. He’d dreamed of being a general as a small boy. He’d imagined leading a Tamorian army onto the highest peaks and looking down at the conquered territories just as the legendary Tamorian generals of history, but he knew the world he lived in. Serving in the Unbreakables was almost a miracle.

“Eliot—“

“Don’t thank me. It was Lucius’s choice, and he’s right. You deserve it. You’ll deserve one of these.” Eliot tapped the silver falcon on his shoulder.

And it’s your name that will protect me, Taurin thought. With the distraction of awarding Eliot the Bronze Sword, Taurin’s shift of duties wouldn’t be noticed. Anyone with enough power to attempt to manipulate the Unbreakables would be placated by Eliot’s decoration and Eliot’s known future accession to the position of First Centurion. Most civilians, and even regular army brass, wouldn’t know that head of the Primi was the stepping stone to centurion.

“It seems my name might be good for something,” Eliot said bitterly, seeming to read Taurin’s thoughts. “Lucius was willing to use it for this, and I’m willing to use it again. You’re a good soldier and a good officer, and loyal to the Alliance. It’s time we remember that Tamor is part of the Alliance and not the enemy. It’s time we remember that the Unbreakables guard all that is good in the Alliance and stop turning a blind eye to injustice. It’s time we value all our people.”

“Eliot--”

“Taurin, I’m not a revolutionary. Don’t worry. But we have power, and our silence strengthens the corrupt who thrive on injustice. You will be head of the Primi and a centurion. Our actions will lead. We’ve decided.”

“You’ve decided.”

“No, Lucius and Aquilla agree.” Eliot leaned forward, his eyes trapping Taurin. “Lucius is the one who is insisting we do it before he retires. It’s not just me, son of Calatis who no one will dare touch. Lucius has only his protection as first centurion. He calls it an internal matter, but he’s not stupid. I know what he’s saying and so does everyone else. The Unbreakables are no longer neutral. We will not stand silent in the sea of injustice. Our first ideal is honor, and we will not retreat into dishonor. I give you my word as a brother Unbreakable, Taurin of Tamor,”

“Sir.” Taurin swallowed hard around the tightness of his throat. 

“Go report to Lucius. Ronan will be going with you.”

“Sir. Eliot.” Taurin dropped to one knee. It was the only possible gesture after such a gift.

“Will you get off the floor,” Eliot said with exasperation.

“You have trusted me—“

“Ronan knows a good commander when he sees one. Now get up.” Eliot pulled Taurin to his feet.

“I’ll take care of him.” Taurin stepped forward and kissed Eliot on both cheeks.

Eliot rubbed the spot on his right cheek. “I know you will, Taurin. Now go, Lieutenant.” Eliot stepped back behind the desk and nodded his dismissal.

“Centurion.” Taurin saluted and left, saving them both from words they both understood, but couldn’t speak. The world was different from ten minutes ago. Eliot had trusted him with everything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it--the end of the first book. To those who have been reading along thank you. At this point, this is all we plan to post. We hope you enjoyed it.


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